#it reverberated in my SOUL when I wrote it

[gghostwriter]

Hey, how you doing? So I was wondering if you could write a one-shot where Y/N visits Spencer in prison and just like how when JJ visited him, Spencer doesn’t like the way the inmates are looking at Y/N, and when he gets back to his cell or when he is in the prison yard, he hears inmates talking about Y/N and gets protective. Saying stuff like “don’t talk about her like that, you don’t get to talk about her” or something similar.

I am unsure if there is a fanfic like this so just in case, I am asking ☺️

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Trope: Established Relationship; Protective!Spencer Word Count: 0.8k A/N: apologies that this took a while. I was feeling very hyper-critical and unsatisfied with anything I wrote so this collected dust in my drafts a bit—still do feel it if I’m being honest but I felt the motivation to revisit my rough draft and make some changes before posting. I hope you like it! Main masterlist

His. // Spencer Reid

Spencer hasn’t felt himself ever since his capture. If he was being honest, his descend to rock bottom started even before then but that wasn’t the point. No, the point was the accumulation of his lack of sleep in his single cell—only an hour at most, the constant alertness from keeping his identity as a fed hidden—his fashioned shiv always an inch away from reach, and the group shared meals—never knowing what other contaminants it has, all made him feel one step away from snapping. He was teetering on the edge of lashing out and like the unsubs that he used to profile in black and white typing, he only needed one stressor before all hell broke loose.

And that stressor was you. 

Visitation hours were always bittersweet. It soothed his soul to see your expressive eyes and beautiful face but dread always came after, knowing the minutes were counting down before you and him had to separate. He had always hated the idea of separation, hated not seeing you wholly and safe.

During the past cases, the bodies of each victim somehow always reminded him of you and here, locked in the confines with other criminals, made his hyper-vigilance of protecting you increase by a hundred. 

“Love, you don’t have to come visit me,” he suggested as the jeers from the other inmates about your looks echoed on the walls. Each whistle and vulgar mention of how your looks get their gears revving was a chip in his knightly armor and although he could see you trying to pay it no attention, it soothe no pain that he was the reason why you were exposed to all this sexualization.

“It’s fine, Spence. I can handle it as long as I get to see you,” you defended. “I miss you.” 

“I miss you too,” the corners of his mouth lifting to a small smile. Four simple words that didn’t fully express the ache echoing in his chest. He could read in several languages but none of them could fully explain the loss that reverberates in him when it’s time to part ways.

You picked on the loose threading of his cardigan adorning your body. “I’ve been visiting your mom. She asks about you a lot. How you’re doing, how you’re being treated and uh—” your lips quivered from emotion “—she misses you too.” 

“Thank you for seeing her. Can you tell her I’m doing fine? I don’t want her to worry too much about me,” he uttered a lie. He wasn’t doing great and you could see that but having been together for so long, you understood the reasoning behind the fib without needing any explanation.

I’d like to get a piece of that, huh. Another crude sentence about you reached his ears causing him to snap his neck to the side and clench his jaw. With all of his vast intellect, Spencer never did understand the psychology behind men catcalling as a form of flirtation and expecting the recipient to react positively. But then again, men who perpetuate this behavior were more of animals in his eyes. Plebeian in thought and unappealing in form.

Maybe there was something in the stale air of prison that made him his hackles rise or maybe it was just his biological imperative to protect what was his. Either reason, he felt himself snap the next day during yard hour when a duo of inmates sat beside him to slobber about your beauty and body.

“Hey Twig, was that your girl the other day? That pretty young thing?” The one with the neck tattoo taunted. “Tell me, does she taste as sweet as she looks?” 

His bald headed partner sneered. “Man, I don’t think he can get her off, probably doesn’t even know how she sounds like in bed. With how skinny he is, bet he’s also pencil—”

“Have some respect. You don’t get to talk about her like that.” Spencer snarled out. He felt like an animal about to escape from his cage—gone was the logical ex-FBI agent and all that remained was a convicted, highly intelligent felon no longer afraid of committing a crime. Additional blood coating his shackled hands was nothing if done in your name.

They both snickered. “And what you going to do about it, huh?” 

He ground his teeth, saying nothing. Spencer knew the statistics of him winning in a fight specially 2 vs 1 was slim to none so he catalogued their faces and numbers in his vast mind and bid his time like a snake lying in the wait for his prey to settle in faux comfort.

“Thought so. C’mon man,” the one with the neck tattoo patted his back and started to stand with his partner. “I’lll see your girl in my fantasies tonight, Twig.” 

But before they were out of earshot, he turned and called back a warning—his last mercy before the execution. “You’re going to regret it.” 

They both hooted in laughter, unaware that Spencer makes good on his promises—threats really, anything to protect his girl.

And when he poisoned a group of inmates who were smuggling drugs inside the jail, he made sure that all those men who jeered sexual innuendos at you, counting in the two who confronted him in the yard, were included. His methods cold, detached, and impersonal—something he learned from the killers he had spent half of his life profiling.

There were whispers, of course, who caused the contamination. He wasn’t deaf. He knew it was what labelled him as a danger and almost untouchable in prison. An emerging alpha in this testosterone filled animal kingdom. The same status that extend to you, his chosen queen.

And so during your next visit when no cat calls reached your ears, you innocently asked about it and he just shrugged like it was no big deal. He didn’t want to taint your mirage of him any more than his stint in prison had done. You were his to protect, his to care for, and his to love.

To put it simply, you were his.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[lethalhades]

The sins of one were the sins of all

(Honestly I wrote this because my girl just needs a fucking hug and IM TIRED😭🙏🏾)

Themes: jinx x fem reader, hurt and comfort, we braiding her hair twin.

Didn’t proof read this or nothing I just cooked.

Navigating the dim, twisting pathways of the underground wasn’t how you planned to spend your day, but finding Jinx was all that mattered now. As you searched, a place suddenly came to mind. a spot she’d likely retreat to, a familiar hideaway.

Without hesitation, you picked up the pace, heading straight for the Last Drop and slipping in through the back door.

Your footsteps reverberated off the walls as you climbed the narrow staircase toward Silco’s office. In the past, just approaching this door would have made your skin crawl, the weight of his presence heavy and unsettling. But now… that feeling was gone, vanished with him the night he was killed.

All that remained was an empty silence behind the door, where his shadow used to linger.

Your fingertips lightly grazed the door before you pushed it open, the creak echoing in the empty room, confirming what you already suspected…Silco’s office was vacant.

You’d hoped to find Jinx here, but a part of you knew it was a long shot. Still, as you stepped inside, your eyes fell on the desk, where a map lay scattered with Jinx’s chaotic scribbles, a sign she’d been here recently.

Almost on instinct, you reached for the map, lifting it carefully with both hands, including the hexcore-tainted one. You usually kept it hidden beneath your cloak, the sight of it stirring a mix of frustration and shame. Someday, you knew, you’d have to accept it. but for now, it stayed mostly in shadow, a reminder of what you’d become.

“This is the first time I’ve seen your hand in years.” The voice jolted you, and before you knew it, you’d hurled a dagger in her direction, missing the blue-haired woman by barely an inch.

Catching your breath, you glared. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you, and now you decide to show up?” Annoyance laced your words. She slid smoothly off the beam, landing on the desk. That’s when you noticed her long hair was loose, spilling over her shoulders and onto the desk—no braids, just a cascade of untamed blue.

She caught you staring and raised an eyebrow. “I was trying to braid it back, but… Silco always did that for me.” Her raspy voice betrayed no hint of vulnerability; it was like a wall she always kept up around you.

You hesitated, almost tempted to ask why she kept her walls up in the first place, but you knew better than to press her boundaries.

Jinx stared at the ground, her eyes shadowed and distant, tracking your movements as you stepped behind the desk and eased into the old, creaking chair. When your fingers brushed her hair, she flinched, jerking back just slightly. You couldn’t help but wonder if, beneath that tough exterior, she was still afraid.

You’d known each other since she went by “Powder,” before the undercity had forced both of you to grow hard and cold.

You’d come to Zaun after being cast out of Piltover, your family’s sins leaving you no choice. You weren’t like them, but in Piltover, the sins of one were the sins of all. Survival in the undercity was brutal, especially for a kid, and you still remembered how close you’d come to losing your life again and again.

But then, like a spark in the dark, she had come barreling into your life. small but fierce, her blue hair a shock of color in the dim streets. Powder, a kid with more guts than anyone you’d ever known. And on that night, she’d been your savior. A little bomb in her hand, tossed without hesitation, scattering the men who meant to hurt you.

That tiny blast had done more than drive them off. it had bound you and Powder together, two lost souls in the chaos of Zaun.

Back then, she was just another lost kid who had found purpose under Silco’s wing. The pain in her eyes had been unmistakable, a pain you recognized all too well. It was the same haunted look your mother had worn the day she brought ruin upon your family.

If you were being honest with yourself, you’d only decided to toughen up that day because you couldn’t stand the idea of being outdone by someone younger, someone with less to lose. She was three years your junior, but her boldness had sparked something in you, forcing you to swallow your fear and find strength you didn’t know you had. Unlike her, though, you’d never bent the knee to some ruthless leader. You carved your own path, becoming a gun for hire, bound to nothing and no one.

Over the years, you’d killed without hesitation, Piltover elites and undercity rogues alike. Survival demanded sacrifice, and you were willing to make it.

Every now and then, your paths would cross, and you’d catch glimpses of the girl who once called herself “Powder,” now transformed into Silco’s weapon. Meanwhile, you had grown too, honing your skills and eventually joining the Firelights, giving your life a new sense of direction.

Now, with the undercity on the brink, chaos breaking loose at every turn, you looked up from your thoughts to find jinx’s back facing you, her head slightly turned seeing her violet eyes sharp and curious. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice carrying an edge of suspicion.

“Braiding your hair, if you’d just sit still,” you replied, fingers deftly weaving through her loose blue strands. Her hair, soft but tangled, For a moment, she held still. watching you work with an expression you couldn’t quite read, letting you bring order to just one small piece of her wildness. You were lucky you still had some skill in this, after all the times you’d braided the younger kids’ hair back in the Firelights’ hideout. Your hands knew how to be gentle, even if the rest of you had learned to be anything but.

As you worked, Jinx’s voice broke the silence. “Every day, he had me making something for him. Or doing that stupid eye thing of his, even though he could’ve done it himself,” she muttered, bitterness edging her words as she thought about all the things she’d done for Silco.

You could see the weight of his lies on her, the way they’d sunk deep. She’d believed him completely—why wouldn’t she?

“My mother expected perfection from me,” you said softly, finding a rare thread of common ground. “One slip, one failure, and I was nothing but a disappointment to her.” For a moment, it felt like you and Jinx were standing on the same edge, each of you marked by different scars but both shaped by people who’d held you to impossible standards.

Both of you had been praised for your minds, raised to rise above, only to lose it all. And when you needed someone most, they had all turned away.

“You were just some Piltover rat. You don’t know a damn thing about what it takes to survive down here.”

You met her gaze, the old anger simmering beneath your words. “I know more than you think,” you replied, voice steady and unyielding. “I lost everything before I even got the chance to hold it,” you added, memories of that day, of watching your family fall apart, still as raw as ever.

Jinx scoffed, crossing her arms. “Why are you telling me this? You think I care?”

“No,” you said, fingers deftly weaving the last of her braids. “But I thought you’d understand.” You secured her signature pigtails, then took a step back, crossing your arms as you faced her. “You followed him because you had nowhere else to turn, no one else to show you the way. But he’s gone now, Jinx. And yet, you’re still clinging to his ghost, acting like he’s still here.”

She bristled, eyes flashing. “I’m not mourning him! That’s the last thing I’d ever do for him.”

“Then prove it,” you challenged, voice calm but firm. “Find something real to fight for. Not for a man who only wanted control and used your loyalty to his advantage.”

Jinx took a step forward, her violet eyes sharp and angry as she glared up at you, defiance sparking between you like a fuse ready to ignite. You held her gaze, searching for the truth hidden beneath her rage. In those eyes, you saw things she would never say aloud.

confusion, anger, the scars of betrayal.

It reminded you of that night at the Last Drop, the night you’d tried to pull her away from Silco’s grip and convince her to join the Firelights. She’d laughed it off, but you’d seen the hesitation, the crack in her armor. That night, things nearly went south between you. one wrong word, and a bullet could’ve ended it all. Now, standing here again, that same tension lingered in the air, fragile and sharp, like the calm before a storm.

“Why do you keep acting like you know me?” Jinx’s voice was sharp, bitter, violet blue eyes wild with frustration as she shoved you. “Like you have any clue what I’ve been through!” She pushed you again, harder this time, her finger jabbing into your chest. “You don’t know anything!”

Her anger flared, and she kept pushing, shoving you back again and again until you finally reached out and caught her wrist.

She tried to pull away, struggling against your hold, but you pulled her closer, wrapping your arms around her, holding her tightly. Her fists came down hard on your back, each punch sharp with anger and pain. It hurt, but you didn’t let go, not even as her punches weakened, not even as her shoulders slumped against you.

The room grew quiet, save for the small, choked sobs that broke free as she stopped fighting and finally gave in. Her fingers gripped the back of your cloak, holding on like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

Her cries were raw, almost hollow, filled with a pain you knew she rarely allowed herself to show.

You just held her, steady and silent, giving her the space to release what she’d been holding back. You didn’t hate her, not for her choices, not for her mistakes. Somehow, despite everything, all you’d ever wanted was to help her find her way back from the darkness.

As her breathing slowed, she didn’t say a word, but her quiet acceptance in your arms told you everything. In that fragile silence, you knew that, at least for this moment.

you were exactly where you needed to be.

[fraugwinska]

Hello Springflower~

*slams envelope on the table and stare you into your soul whispering*

Alastor x reader where reader is asking him to show off as a fake "couple" because of one sinner who just won't stop annoying reader. Al agreed to help his dear friend and it started of innocent and cute with hand holding, kiss on the cheek- when SUDDENLY he kiss reader (in front of the sinner ofc) INTENSE and when he just stops for a second to kiss her neck she's like: "Al...? He's gone."

And he is like: "how disapointing"~

And just GOES ON

*leaves a heart cupcake next to the envelope and runs away*

For you - anything, sweet summer child. This just flowed out of me, and I was kicking my own feet as I wrote it. So... Here you go ;> I sincerely hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️

Fake it 'till you Make it

The door slammed into it's frame with a bang so loud the glasses in it rattled. You panted, heart pounding hard in your chest as you tried to calm your erratic breathing. With shaking fingers you gripped the dark, wooden frame, so tight your nails scratched the furnishing off. You peered out of the yellow and red stained glasses, trying to identify the distorted shapes from the outside. Did he follow you? Was he still out there?

„What's...“

You felt a hand on your shoulder and reacted without thinking. You turned around with a shocked scream and whipped your arm out for a forceful slap. The sound reverberated around in the empty room as a slight stinging sensation ran through your palm. It snapped you back to reality and made you pause.

You blinked as your gaze went from your own, trembling hand, which now burned in an angry, red hue to a taupe face, the shadow of your handprint next to a wide, yellow smile. Your breath seemed to freeze as your eyes went up and finally met a pair of wide, burgundy ones.

"...the matter, dear?" Alastor finished, blinking before his face shifted slightly.

You stood speechless and frozen for a hot second, trying to recollect your thoughts before a tidal wave of emotion washed over your head. Embarrassment, followed by shock and, suddenly, by the sensation that started to build in your chest, the threat to bubble over in tears.

„Oh satan, Alastor, I-I'm so sorry. I, shit, I got you bad, I'm so sorry, th-there was.. and I was.."

You choked down another sob, words and feelings clogging up in your mouth. You rubbed at your stinging eyes, blinking away what you were trying desperately not to show. You thought it would have worked at least until Alastor's slender hands came up to wrap around your wrist and pull them away gently.

"Are you a singer, dear?" he chimed, his face unmoved, but his eyes softening a little. "Because that really was quite the hit! Ha ha!"

When you didn't join in his laugh, he immediately snapped out of it.

"But it seems my little joke was out of place, once again. What has you so rattled, little one?"

And this time, he actually made space and dropped the joke-y act, looking a bit worried. Which only added more pressure to the well in your chest. You squeezed your eyes shut to hold back any tears that tried to fight their way through, making yourself feel ridiculous.

"It's... there's this guy."

You swallowed sour spit down, licking your lips quickly before opening your mouth again, voice less shaky than you were feeling. "I saw him two weeks ago when I went grocery shopping with Niffty. He... he asked us for directions, I didn't know where the place he wanted to go was, and that was that. But ever since..."

Alastor's frown deepened. "Ever since then..?" he prompted carefully.

"...he kind of... pops up whenever I leave the hotel... he just shows up out of nowhere and asks me things. Follows me, doesn't listen when I tell him to leave me alone, doesn't know boundaries.." you balled your fists again, brows twitching down at the thought. "And today.. he tried to grab me, and I panicked, and I kicked him and he looked like..."

You looked back to the glasses.

"...it felt as if he was about to do something."

Alastor stared into you with these piercing eyes. It wasn't creepy, you didn't feel scrutinized or looked down on, and this wasn't the first time. Still, you felt that strange sense of unease in his intense gaze, like a cold hand was wrapped around your spine, running shivers down your back. It wasn't uncomfortable, per se, just... different. It had been months since you started your new job in the Hazbin Hotel as a bellhop, helping Charlie and Vaggie out in general. You weren't one to believe in redemption, but the work was easy, the residents nice and life, despite being dead, was good. It wasn't exactly peaceful, since living together with the radio demon sometimes had its challenges, but Alastor proved time after time that even if he could be quite eccentric, he was a good man deep down, funny and smart and interesting. Someone you could consider a friend.

That, however, didn't mean that he didn't spook you from time to time. He straightened his shoulders, brushed out imaginary dust from the sleeves of his suit, and when he spoke, there was an unmoving threat in his voice that he almost always hid behind his grins.

"He attempted to harm you?"

You furrowed your brows and stepped closer, leaving a little bit of space between you.

"I don't know... it felt like that. I didn't give it enough time to find out, I just ran back here."

"Smart girl.", he just commented, leaning over you to also watch the street through bulky glasses. You sighed and glanced out the windows. The sky had dimmed, red tinting the streets as it always did down here in the evenings. A few stray sinners stumbled along, either searching for a victim for the night or going home from their own sins. Still no trace of the demon. You could still feel the hot air of his breath on your neck when he bent forward. You grimaced at the thought of the stench of his sweat on the sleeves of your jacket.

"God... how am I going to go anywhere with him around?", you muttered to yourself, stepping back further and leaning against the table, burying your face into your hands. Alastor perked up at that. He tapped his cane against the floor.

"Oh, well I can't in good conscience allow my dear employee to fear the streets of the pentagram because of a silly pest."

You didn't catch his meaning. At least, not immediately. You shot a glance his way, giving him a skeptical look, furrowing a brow in confusion. "What do you-?"

He waved his cane, cutting you off, and put an arm around your shoulders. "I shall accompany you, then. When you need to go out, let me know and we'll show ourselves together. That sinner will get the gist then, I'm sure."

Your eyes widen. "Alastor, you're a genius!" you say with excitement as the thought slowly took root in your head, "If this creep thinks we're a couple, he might stay away."

"A what now?", Alastor asks, his smile faltering ever so slightly. However, his question was lost in your sudden enthusiasm, your excited rush of thoughts now loud and clear in your voice. "Then we should play the role in every aspect. We have to give off couple vibes, maybe show some PDA, nothing overboard, I know you don't like that kind of stuff, but holding hands might be believable enough. Oh, you're the best, Alastor."

"Yes, yes... so I've been told...", he replied with the usual giddy tone, although his voice sounded a little thick with white static.

You didn't pay much attention to it though, feeling a weight drop from your shoulders at the prospect of keeping the nuisance at bay. The whole idea might seem a bit strange to the others, but if it helped, why not?

***

"Well then, darling, ready to give the performance of your lifetime?", Alastor called the moment you exited the elevator. He was practically hopping over, grinning at you with a mixture of smugness, amusement and... something else. His smile grew, showcasing his pointed, sharp teeth with a flash. He was looking as dapper as always, dress coat neat and perfectly in place, cane ready at his hands - the radio demon as he breathed and lived.

"I hope so..." you muttered distractedly while straightening the hem of your uniform and peeking around the lobby. It was early morning and you had a not-so-short list of errands to run for the hotel. Alastor had been nonchalant about the trip when you asked him to accompany you last night, and you had half-assumed he had some matters of his own to tend to, or just flat-out backing out. But he just waved his hands and told you he'd be there at 8 a.m. sharp, which he was. In ALL the ways.

As it turned out the rumors of your plan must have traveled down the hotel grapevines fast and after a small bang and a hissed “Sssshhh!” from the left you saw the curious faces of Charlie, Niffty and Angel poking out the kitchen door, spying from afar and watching you and Alastor with bated breaths and loud-yet-shushed giggles.

"Don't tell me you're having a second thoughts on me accompanying you, dear.", Alastor stepped closer, wrapping his fingers around your hand in a tight grip, either oblivious to the audience or utterly non-fazed by them. You shook your head no, grimacing a little as your body tensed up in a bit of... concern. Not because of what you were about to do, no, it had everything and nothing to do with him and the... um. Hand. Touching.

"We can hear you, you know.", you hissed in the direction of the whispered squeals at his gesture, face scrunching up when a peal of giggling broke out and Angel audibly snorted through a quickly closed door. "Jus' be careful, tits, if 'ya go further than that with the oldtimer 'ya might need to buy some protection while 'ya out."

***

The plan was quite simple, but you guessed it had the possibility of either working like a charm or the idiot getting so mad, he could lose it and try something stupid.

Nevertheless, with Alastor on your side you didn't feel as paranoid and suffocated about leaving the grounds of the hotel. And his idea had worked out brilliantly so far. Not a single sign of your stalker, you had only met the usual faces on the main market road of the Pentagram City - maybe they stared a little more... okay, a LOT more, seeing you arm in arm with Al - and you ran into Angels' friend, Cherri Bomb, when you had to get some permits renewed. She had been friendly but extremely surprised and curious about since when you and Alastor, THE Radio demon were parading around 'like a pair of fuckin' newlyweds', in her words.

Alastor tried to brush her off with a monotone "What can I say? The good Lady just adores my presence.", squeezing your hand a little tighter, but his answer didn't satisfy her, so Cherri tried to pry into you, raising a brow and shooting you a smirk. "Al is a fun guy and interesting to talk to and spend time with. I like his company.", you shrugged, signing a paper, avoiding looking the cyclops into the eyes while you felt your ears redden.

It took her a good minute of blank stare, but when her grin slowly grew wider, you had no choice but to warn her with a hard stare and a small shake of your head. She rolled her one eye but she made a gesture of sealing the lips, still oogling the connection of your hands with impish delight.

At that moment you felt a squeeze on the hand, still in Alastor's grasp and his heavy stare from your right. His smile seemed fixed, a bit on the strained side, although his gaze remained cheerful.

"Everything wrapped up here, dearest?" he asked, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Almost done, just this document and the hotel can continue to serve alcohol. Husk would give me one hell of a shot if I'd forget that one."

You looked over to see if Alastor would pick up on the joke, but he was staring intently somewhere over your shoulder, so you just filed the form quickly and waved your friend goodbye. He quickened his steps, almost dragging you away as he paced down the street. You almost tripped over you own feet, trying to keep up with him.

"I think your persistent little pursuer has found us, darling. Don't look, just walk."

You sped up, also feeling a presence that had been on your heels a little longer than comfortable, a weighty silence behind your back. Still, as you rounded a corner, you just had to take a tiny peek and you saw, from the corner of your eyes, that the deranged looking coyote was gaining on you, still keeping his distance, his figure only a dark, moving smudge in the distance.

"Um... I guess now's a good time for a Plan B.", you said, halting in front of an antique shop.

Alastor's hand slid a bit lower, only his fingers curled around yours now, his warm touch tingling. "I'm thinking of it. Knowing your weak stomach, darling, bloodshed is out of the question?" he inquired, acting overly interested in a vintage gramophone showcased in the shop window and you snorted.

"You remember that?"

"Dear, it's hard to forget the amount of bile Niffty had to clean out of the dishwasher after you ran into my cooking...experiment."

"Not my proudest moment...", you laughed nervously, feeling cold sweat gather up on your back as you saw the rabid looking demon from the corner of your eye, creeping closer and closer. Alastor gave you a long, thoughtful look, before he spoke again, quietly and serious.

"Then let us both hope you'll stomach Plan B better."

Before you could think much, Alastor turned towards you, untangling his fingers from yours. His now freed hand cupped your cheek, and before you could say anything, he bowed down, tilting his head a bit to the side and gently pressed his ever-smiling lips against yours.

It was not your first kiss in your afterlife, but it might have very well been, seeing as your first response was an electric jolt up your spine. And this reaction wasn't even the weirdest part if the actual kissing part was just some peck. This wasn't a peck. A kiss with lips unmoving wasn't a kiss, it was more of a mouth-touching. This was something way more.

As surprising as the kiss was the tenderness with which he brought his lips to yours. It was gentle and yet so sensual that it sent small currents all over your skin, causing your eyes to close, goosebumps to form along your arms and a nervous flutter to erupt in the pit of your stomach. And maybe, maybe it lasted for just a fraction of the eternity it felt like, but if someone would have asked you later, you would swear he stole more than just a taste with the kiss. The slight push and pull between your mouths left the edges of your skin numb, the press of his smooth and heated mouth stirring up a peculiar feeling inside you that kept growing and rising and..

What was the reason for this again?

Oh yeah, your stalker.

Stalker.

You opened your eyes, seeing Alastor's burning red eyes fixated on something behind you, his expression intense with the hint of arrogance, a possessive smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Something about that, the feel, the look in his eyes, made the back of your neck prickle. You blushed a little bit more but caught onto the reason the moment you realized what he was doing, trying to break the kiss to see where the coyote was.

You could only turn your head far enough to see the quickly shrinking silhouette of the demon vanishing in the distance, before Alastor brought his other hand to your waist, pulling you closer together, his tongue slipping between your lips, coaxing your lips to open again. Your own tongue responded and, together they mingled and twined with one another, sending the nerve-ending of your lips into a pleasant tingling sensation.

"A-Alas...tor...", you tried to get the words out as he nipped your lower lip, your eyes falling into those bright, heavy lidded ones of his, eyes which you couldn't stop looking into.

"He.. he's gone."

"Mh. Pity...", Alastor breathed with a soft hum, his chest rumbling at his words. His response had a mixture of sarcasm and amusement in it, but before you could properly ponder on them, your entire mind short-circuited when you realized he made no move to pull away.

Quite the opposite - with his hand sliding to your neck he pulled you onto his mouth again, deepening the kiss as his tongue slipped past your lips once more, completely shutting your mind down as a quiet, heartbreaking moan escaped your throat.

The fact that you two were in public, still standing in front of some store, all on display for anyone that might come down the road, didn't register in the haze that was slowly, so pleasantly slowly, forming. So lost were you in that fog of heat that the surroundings suddenly got distorted, leaving the alley, the store, the city completely. Your head spun at the sensations, a tremble raked across your nerves as your knees grew weak at the sound of his playful voice, echoing in the void you found yourself in.

"Let's draw it out a little more, darling, hm? Just to make sure."

[shidouryusm]

Im not coming home

Gojo Satoru x reader

Content- angsty angst, just a lot of pain, reference to recent manga,

A.N -> i wrote this in a bus all teary faced with a concerned old uncle looking at me. I need my blue eyed boyfriend so bad. This is me mourning I haven’t been able to do it properly all day. Im sorry pls dont kill me. Not proofread this is a heat of the moment writing literally 😭

“See you guys tomorrow”, you say softly before sprinting out of the building. As if your body clock instantly knows when to chime in and draw you back to your nest.

You briskly get out of the room, offering a small wave to Shoko who just entered. Her concerned eyes following your trail.

The sun was floating in the horizon, the ground painted asphalt from the dying colours of the twilight and the air filled with intangible thickness of cold. In the midst of it, you walked. You walk with a rising tornado of emotions bubbling inside you, contrast to the drying winter.

You walked through the bustle of Roppongi. The town was back from the shambles it was two months prior. Always finding a way to bounce back into its original upheaval.

Amongst the skyscrapers decorating Roppongi, you eyes wander to the little sweet shop- selling the ever famous kikufuku — sweet cream filled mochi with Zunda paste. Satoru’s ever favourite.

“baby, this isn’t just a sweet.” Satoru gasps indignantly upon hearing your allegations of getting a cavity from it — “It’s a delicacy. Zunda and sweet cream— a work of culinary that you need to appreciate by savouring it as much as you can”, you roll your eyes as you watch your boyfriend plops another mochi in one bite. “Well that doesn’t mean you can double it up as lunch , Toru. you need to eat some actual meal”

“In that case, I can eat yo— I’m sorry” gojo quickly moves away as you swivel the huge cushion towards him, sweet chuckles erupting from his chest as you look at him poutedly.

The little playback of the memory cracked a little smile on your face — the shop ever so reminiscent of your little late night trips with Satoru whenever you both feel insomniac.

You walk over to the shop, feet reflexively carrying you towards the whirlwind of memories you have with him.

The sun had already settled beneath the darkness when you arrived home. The huge compound of area void of any presence. You enter the room, turning the lights on as you settle on the table. The small bag of kikufuku carefully placed on it.

“I’m home” you say without any conscious thought behind.

How can you? When these words never failed to emerge a 6’3 white-haired nuisance, his large hands encircling your waist, his nose breathing in your scent as you get slightly levitated into the air from the insane height difference. The small whispers of “I love you”s and “I miss you”s exchanged in the small gap between your faces — as if it were eternities since you both met each other. Those cerulean eyes of his mirroring your pools with affection and love that ran miles after miles.

Followed by little kisses pressed to your cheeks, then to your eyes and lastly placed on your lips. Those soft rhythm of his lips like promises of eternity.

Your chest twists in pain like you hugged a teddy bear fashioned with sharp daggers, slicing through your soul.

A sharp throb of your heart against your ribs as if it’s begging to be freed and chase the one it’s destined to beat for always. Your body turns numb, the tears like rivulets against your cheek— while you let them flow freely after a day long facade. Your shaky hands wander aimlessly into the air, pleading to find the silhouette, the comfort, the warmth of his body.

A part of your soul seemed to die everyday since then and today another sliver of it withered into nothingness.

Your voice broken like the shards of mirror reverberates across the large room that no one but you occupy, “im home, ‘toru. Where are you?”

The bag of kikufuku lays on the table as it is but Satoru hasn’t arrived home.

A.N 2 -> Yall pls dont be mad this is my way to cope. Even though I wrote this Im clutching on to the littol hope that he will return. If not then understand gege snuffed the life out of me as well

[shintin]

Forbidden Flames

↳ Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

One-shot

Summary: Satoru Gojo receives a letter, inviting him to a secluded cottage in the forest. Is it a trap by curse users or a haunting memory trying to scratch his wounds?

Or a story about how You and Satoru Gojo fucked after years.

Word count: +11 k.

Genre: explicit smut, romance, angst (Jujutsu Kaisen au).

Warnings/Tags: +18, NSFW, reader-insert, no Y/N, post-breakup, soft Satoru Gojo, curse user reader, no death, too much fluff and kissing, cunnilingus, creampie, fingering, unprotected sex (c’mon! we all want this), multiple orgasms, hair pulling, tear licking, emotional trauma, emotional sex, no manga spoilers.

Notes: Hey there! I wrote this because Gege Akutami left an emotional mark on me. So, you know...

You can read the "Disclaimers" at the end.

Song Recommendation: Forbidden Flames Playlist

You can read my fics on AO3. If you have any questions, don’t be shy and ASK.

Back to masterlist

As the afternoon sun cast long shadows through the dense foliage, a mysterious man with stark white hair and a black blindfold stepped into the heart of the desolate wilderness. Satoru Gojo. The air hung heavy with the earthy scent of wet soil mingling with the musty aroma of decaying leaves, a reminder of the rainstorm that had visited the night before.

Every step he took got lost between the giggles and hisses of harmless curses hiding behind the trees with fear. The ground beneath his feet was carpeted with a mosaic of fallen leaves, their vibrant red, orange, and gold colors now muted and lifeless, as if drained of all vitality. Some of them, with still a breath to take, crunched beneath his weight, the sound of a heartrending dirge that reverberated through the desolation.

Tall, gnarled trees stood sentinel on either side, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers as if yearning to trap the unwary. Their towering forms were shrouded in darkness, their essence reduced to withered remnants. They whispered mournful laments in the wind, their voices carrying tales of forgotten sorrows.

The forest, once flourishing and thriving, now seemed like a tragic tableau frozen in time. The canopy above formed a suffocating barrier that only got disturbed by the man's ethereal presence. Wild ferns brushed against his legs, leaving behind a trace of dew upon his black trousers. The moist ground yielded beneath his every step as if reluctant to release its grip from his boots' footprints.

As he pressed further into the jungle, the darkness deepened, the path twisting and turning like a labyrinth of despair. The shadows grew longer, stretching out like grasping tendrils as if eager to ensnare his soul. The silence became oppressive, broken only by the occasional painful cry of a distant creature.

The cottage he had received its address stood as a solitary figure amidst the gloomy jungle, a crumbling monument to forgotten dreams. Its dilapidated walls whispered of lost hopes and shattered promises, its windows veiled with white curtains.

With his hands casually tucked into his pockets, he watched the scene before him, a twisted smile playing upon his lips. He thought it was a perfect place, a trap waiting to spring him. But who would be foolhardy enough to challenge the strongest of all times?

But wait!

He couldn't feel any cursed energy! His six eyes were dumb. There was only one who could blind their watchful gaze.

So, when Satoru Gojo approached the house, his heart quickened after a long time, anticipation and anxiety coursing through his veins. The stage was set, the elements conspiring to test his resolve. Would he emerge from this shadowed encounter unscathed, or would the jungle claim yet another victim, lost to the depths of its sorrow-laden clutches?

Satoru's focus fixated on the doorknob, a slight gulp revealing his hesitation. Taking a deep breath, he turned and pushed open the door. The scent of something sweet enveloped his nostrils, a reminiscent embrace that momentarily distracted his senses. However, as his eyes met the sight that awaited him, an unexpected revelation struck him with a force that resurfaced long-forgotten memories.

The inside resembled an aged hideout, with wooden walls and colorful chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, casting warm, dappled patterns on the worn tatami floor. In the center of the room, a round table took its place, adorned with a vase of delicate forget-me-not flowers. Flanking the table were two chairs. And then, in the small kitchen stood the person who had left a void in his heart.

"You're late," your voice rang out in a cheerful tone, beckoning him forward. "Come inside. It's chilly out." With your back facing the door, you stood at the counter, appearing preoccupied with unwrapping something.

Caught in a maelstrom of emotions, Satoru's thoughts fragmented like scattered puzzle pieces, their intended purpose obscured by the inner turmoil. His hand held the doorknob tightly, trapped in a state of ambiguity, unable to release its grip.

Was this a mirage? How could it be that when you seemed precisely the way he had traced the outline of your body in the air while lying in bed, unable to sleep?

Yes, of course, there were nights when the desire to run his fingers through your hair filled his dreams. It was inevitable; your scent permeated everything, even riding on the breeze. There were days fatigue misled him, mistaking weariness for the embrace, he craved, only to discover the hollowness within his very bones. Your body was no longer curled around him, no comfort, and in your absence, each day left him icy, with lips turning blue and hands yearning for the warmth of your touch. He felt adrift in a blizzard, seeking the faint flicker of a fire you had extinguished.

What the fuck is wrong with you, Satoru? Think! Is this a manipulation technique?

And then, as if compelled by an unseen power, you turned your head, causing his heart to skip a beat—countless beats. You were undeniably real.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

Seeing you was akin to being hit in the knee with a bullet. Satoru's legs nearly gave way, his heart raced, and his hands turned clammy, almost causing him to collapse. He had never felt this urge to tear off his blindfold before, as your departure had happened so abruptly that he didn't have a chance to see you. Although he had committed every detail of you to memory, but this…this… witnessing it in person was an entirely different experience.

He stepped back, feeling the heaviness of the past, necessitating some distance. The harsh truths loomed, threatening to engulf him as he wrestled with the profound effect of your presence. Yet, he couldn't tear his gaze away from you, his mind struggling to comprehend the unfolding situation. The reality was so surreal, making it difficult for him to grasp that it was really occurring.

"Why are you just standing there?" you asked, holding a pack of his beloved Kikufuku mochis in your hands. A radiant smile graced your face, illuminating the damp room with its brightness.

He couldn't give two fucks about mochis when your face had that effect on him, always causing him to lose track of where he was, who he was, and what he might say or do. And that familiar smile, it killed him a little. His gaze remained there, lingering for too long, his concealed eyes giving away his thoughts. "Why do you have that look on your face?" you asked, tilting your head with curiosity and stepping closer to him.

As you stood before him, the closeness amplified the wave of emotions within him. Joy and disbelief raced through his veins. The fragrance that surrounded you, so hauntingly acquainted, sparked a rush of nostalgia.

Satoru Gojo was born with a specific purpose, a set of perfect eyes, and the weight of his lineage on his shoulders. He was reserved and calculated. When he mastered the Limitless technique, he concluded that infinite solitude was the only way to survive. Because how he could describe the experience of seeing everything, for when you see everything, you see nothing. An excess of color turns into pure black, an infinite void.

Yes, he was born with those six eyes. People never let him forget. But to you, his eyes were simply eyes. He recalled the first time you teased him about them and how his heart caught in his chest because he had never seen someone as vibrant and colorful as you.

It wasn't exactly love at first sight, but it was something like that. The first time he saw you, he felt it. An ache. Like a little electric burn. He felt his life changed.

Gradually, his loneliness began to dissipate. He found a place for himself in this chaotic world. With you, he could laugh, cry, joke around, and even be a brat. It was something no one could genuinely grasp—the feeling of finally being alive as a person. Before you, he felt he hadn't truly existed, merely scattered atoms in an indifferent universe following a predetermined path. But you changed everything. You dismantled and rebuilt him anew. You molded him, nurtured him, and despite him being the strongest, you kept him safe.

Without a noble title or material wealth, you were everything that went against the expectations of the Clan Elders. Yet, you stood faithfully by his side, precisely where he believed you belonged. Or at least, that's what he presumed.

Then, on that fateful day, the day he desperately wished was nothing more than a dreadful nightmare, reality unfolded before him. How could it be real? He stood there, confronted by the lifeless bodies of two Higher Ups and their protectors, with you covered in their blood. It was inconceivable. He couldn't accept that you were responsible for such a gruesome scene. Yet, you showed no remorse. You firmly believed it was the only solution, fed up with their destructive actions that brought ruin upon sorcerers deemed insignificant. You had accepted the notion that a problem without a remedy should be eradicated like an unwelcome weed.

On that day, he considered shaking your shoulders and demanding that you deny it all. He even contemplated going against everyone because what was the fucking point of wielding such power if he couldn't safeguard the woman he loved? The thought of quitting and escaping with you crossed his mind, too. He was willing to sacrifice everything: power, wealth, status, even his own life. However, you didn't desire any of those things.

His friend, Suguru Geto, once posed a question: Was he Satoru Gojo because he was the strongest, or was he the strongest because he was Satoru Gojo? At that time, he had no answer. A 17-year-old couldn't possibly find a response to such a profound question. However, when you entered his life, everything changed. Being the strongest lost its significance. He was just Satoru Gojo, and he was who he was because you loved him. His existence held meaning because you touched his life. He saw because he needed to gaze upon you. He spoke because he longed to hear your voice.

And then, similar to his best friend, after causing a bloodbath, you also walked out of his life. Yet, this time, it wasn't solely loneliness that engulfed him. It felt like one of his lungs had been taken away, and he heavied without you by his side through each passing moment. He became nothing once more. There was a hole in his life where you used to fit perfectly, and no matter what he did to try and fill it, nothing worked.

It was a strange anguish, a pain he never anticipated or conceived of. It consumed him from within, setting him ablaze with a profound emptiness. Then, defying the assumption that someone as formidable as him could experience sorrow, he was burdened with the task of erasing you. It was as if you were deemed nothing more than a blemish, a dishonor.

"What... what look?" he struggled to say, his voice tinged with a desperate yearning. Regret lingered in his tone as his words fell short. With a touch of vulnerability, he shut his eyes beneath the comforting confines of his blindfold, seeking refuge in the veil of darkness. Taking a deep breath, he consciously filled his lungs, using them as an anchor amidst the swirling storm of sensations enveloping him.

"That look," you remarked, your voice carrying a mischievous tone that floated in the atmosphere. "It's as if you don't trust me," you added teasingly. A few playful strands of hair escaped their intended position and delicately framed your face, casting a bewitching allure. An irresistible urge welled within him, compelling him to extend his hand and tuck those strands behind your ear—stupid muscle memory. However, he restrained himself, his hand suspended mid-air, resolute in resisting the magnetic pull of his desires.

"Why did you invite me here?" Satoru voiced, his grip on the doorknob loosening as the impact of reality settled upon him. The initial shock transformed into a lucid understanding. He wasn't oblivious. He knew that you were aware of his assignment to eliminate you. So, why? Was it because you recognized your unstoppable nature? Was it because you had realized that the blackhole existed within you, devouring everything you once held dear unless someone intervened?

"You could have refused to come, yet here you are," you whimsically remarked, a devilish glint in your eyes as you punctuated your words with a wink. You strolled over to the weathered table and set the pocket upon its aged surface.

"Cut it out!" Satoru snapped, his frustration mounting. "You know, I had no idea it was you!" His heart thumped in his chest, urging his feet to move forward, even as his mind screamed at him to flee. A sense of unease gripped him, acknowledging the futility of engaging in a battle he felt ill-prepared to win.

You turned towards him, a hint of a smile gracing your lips as your hands stayed concealed behind your back. Leaning against the chair, you arched an eyebrow, your eyes locked on him. "I have a feeling you knew it was me as soon as you arrived at the house," you declared, a jovial tone lacing your words. "After all, I'm the only one capable of concealing my cursed energy from you."

"We both know that I shouldn't be here. I—" Satoru's sentence dissolved, left unfinished, as your hand reached out, bridging the gap between you with a gentle touch. Infinity never worked with you. Even the very essence of the cursed energy recognized that you posed no threat to him. Furthermore, he would gladly provide you with any justification to touch him.

Lost in his reverie, Satoru suddenly became acutely aware of your presence. The magnitude of his longing and the depth of his yearning surged within him. In that instant, he recognized the immense emptiness you had left and how much he had missed you. Emotions swirled together, blending past and present, uncertainty and desire, in a delicate dance that would shape your fates.

"Why are you here, then?" you inquired, and his eyes met yours, reflecting the same yearning that dwelled in his heart. "Tell me, did you come in to kill me?" With a deliberate movement, you folded his fingers, molding them into the shape he would use to unleash his hollow purple. Bringing his hand close to your heart, you held it there. Despite the gravity of the situation, a soft smile adorned your lips.

He couldn't do this.

Taken aback by your unexpected gesture, Satoru swiftly withdrew his hand from your grasp. Anger and heartbreak swirled within him, entwining in a tumultuous storm. The realization hit him like a relentless wave, crashing against the shores of his consciousness. How had you drifted so far apart? When had the divergence between your paths become so profound that he failed to notice? The weight of your choice, to embrace the life of a curse user, to tread a road stained with blood, bore down upon him with a heavy burden. The pain on his face mirrored the fracture within his heart, a sense of loss mingling with a flicker of betrayal.

He wished he could say something. He wished he could start yelling, expressing all the thoughts and desires he had harbored since then—whether shouting, pouring out his heart, or expressing frustration. However, he adhered to the predetermined script you anticipated because he loved you unconditionally, unable to deny you anything.

"I didn't think so," you murmured, closing the gap between you, pressing your lips against his in a way that effortlessly eroded his resistance.

You tilted his face down, your hand caught somewhere behind his neck and the base of his jaw, and you kissed him softly and slowly, heat filling his blood with dangerous speed.

One of his hands naturally found its way to the back of your waist, holding you with a gentle yet possessive grasp, while the other securely clasped your arm, pulling you closer.

He felt incredible against you, your bodies fitting perfectly. Nothing ever came easier than kissing you. Every thought and worry wicked away, replaced by the feel of his mouth against your skin, his hand claiming your body.

In that moment, his eyes, his legacy, his clan's name, and the orders given about you faded away. This was his true purpose.

As your tongues entwined, a surge of electricity coursed through his veins, his body responding to the intoxicating enchantment of your touch. Your fingers traced the outline of his blindfold while others clung to his uniform as if he were your sole fulcrum in a world spinning out of control. Your back arched, and he embraced you tighter, his grip firm yet tender, his long fingers leaving an indelible mark upon your skin.

Breathless, as if you had just completed a marathon, you reluctantly pulled back from the heated exchange. Drawing him nearer, he yielded willingly, allowing you to guide him wherever you desired because wherever you led was where he believed to be his destination.

"Take this off," you beseeched, desperation and sorrow permeating your words as your forefinger lifted his blindfold and let it fall to the floor. His tousled hair cascaded softly over his forehead, unable to hide the azure eyes that had once captivated your heart.

In his eyes, tragedy and beauty could be seen, a stoicism that wouldn't be shaken, and childlike joy that couldn't help but flow.

He swallowed, and you shifted your hand to his ear, lightly grazing his earlobe with your pinkie before tracing down his jawline. There was no rejection, yet no clear confirmation either. Your hand brushed against his undercut as you continued.

"There you are," you whispered, your voice laden with kindness. Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes, a solitary droplet making its way down your cheek as you gently cradled his face in your hands. He looked down at you, counting each tear on your lovely cheeks.

He clasped your hand, kissing your palm before guiding it to rest upon his heart. It was the same foolish heart, steadfastly beating for you, never having faltered. Through teary eyes, you looked at him, and he remained struck by the sheer beauty that not even your tears could diminish.

As your bottom lip quivered beneath his touch, quickly, with a light sweep of his hand, he wiped away the tears that stained your stunning eyes. You missed him too, didn't you? Was it painful for you, too? Silly girl! You couldn't maintain your carefully constructed facades for more than ten minutes when it came to him.

The realization washed over him, dispelling any remaining doubts.

Without a second thought, he effortlessly lifted you, your legs encircling his waist while your hands secured around his neck. Engrossed in a fervent kiss, both of you surrendered to the moment as he clasped your back firmly, pulling you closer to himself, relishing the flavor of your lips.

Letting go wasn't an option when every fiber of his being had missed you.

Determined and resolute, he carried you out to a room he presumed to be the bedroom, even though it didn't matter whether there was a bed or a simple mattress; what mattered was the way your touch kindled a blazing fire within him, and he had no intention of bearing that flame alone.

Keeping you securely nestled in his arms, he forcefully kicked open the door and lowered you onto the welcoming comfort of the bed. The urgency to discard his black jacket left no room for delay. At the same time, your nimble hands deftly undid the buckle of your pants, but before you could remove them entirely, his hands moved with an instinctual hunger, swiftly stripping you of the garment and casting it aside as if propelled by an untamed fervor. The passion between you burned fiercely, filling the room with an all-encompassing energy that eclipsed any other thoughts or worries.

With a quick movement, he discarded his black t-shirt, revealing the well-defined curves of his chest that shimmered with a touch of sweat. His desire was tangible, his lust unmistakable as he straddled between your parted legs, his hands grasping your nape.

The taste of his lips met yours, initiating a sequence of fervent kisses that persisted without pause, each delving deeper than the last. The world around you lost its significance as your breaths synchronized in rhythm, the heat between your bodies escalating.

In the meantime, your hands moved swiftly, deftly unbuttoning your shirt.

As his lips briefly separated from yours, he uttered a whispered confession. "I hate how bad I want you," he admitted, his voice carrying a raw sincerity. However, before you could reply, his attention shifted to your neck, where his teeth gently grazed your sensitive flesh, leaving behind tracks of tantalizing nibbles and passionate kisses.

You couldn't help but release a gasp as pleasure and a twinge of pain electrified your senses, sending delightful shivers coursing down your spine. In the throes of passion, your hand curled into a fistful of his hair, a silent request for more. Call it masochist, but he loved it when you did this. He tenderly pulled at your hair in response, tilting your head back ever so slightly, baring more of your vulnerable neck to his hungry mouth.

Then, you did what came naturally to you. With a voice brimming with longing and ecstasy, you spoke his name, "Satoru," the sound slipping from your lips like a hushed prayer.

His actions came to an abrupt pause. His lips separated from your skin, and his grasp on your hair loosened as if a sudden realization had hit him like a splash of icy water. It was ironic how you still possessed this power over him, a power that could both thrill and unsettle him.

The sound of his name on your lips had become something he treasured, and damn it, he had missed hearing it again. Just like every fucking tiny thing he had missed about you.

With a sudden movement, he withdrew his head from the crook of your neck and brought his forehead close to yours. His hands found solace in brushing back strands of your hair with comforting strokes.

He shut his eyes, and in a whisper, his voice carried a hint of fragility, a rawness that tugged at your heartstrings. "Say it again," he pleaded, his voice breaking under the pressure of unexpressed sentiments. It was as if that simple word held immense significance, a lifeline to his heart that he desperately craved.

Without hesitation, you took a steadying breath, the name forming on your lips.

"Satoru."

"S-Say it kinder."

"Satoru."

"Say it slower."

"Satoru."

"Say it gentler."

"Satoru."

"Say it louder."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you wanna tell me you miss me."

"Satoru…"

"Say it as if you're annoyed that I eat so many sweets."

"Satoru!"

"Is this why you made the trip to Sendai just to get me those mochis?"

…

"Say it."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you ever cared, spared a single thought for me."

"SATORU."

"Say it as if when you lied in bed, you remembered something I once said."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if it hurt you too when someone said my name with yours."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if every time a door opened, you too expected me to walk out of it, that every time you cooked, you hummed my favorite songs."

"S-Satoru…"

"Say it as if you need me."

"Satoru."

"Say it again."

"Satoru."

"Again."

"…Satoru."

"Say it as if you want to tell me something important."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you want me to know you won't stay."

"Toru."

"No. Not like this."

"Satoru?"

"Please."

"Satoru."

"Say it as if you want me to know you're gonna run away again."

"Satoru…"

"Huh. Better. Now say it as if you wanna tell that you slept badly without me, that you only dreamed of me, and in the morning, you woke up exhausted without having any desire to live."

"Satoru."

"You don't have a line, do you? No remorse. No regret. Not even a single thought for the man you left behind like a walking ghost. And you won't ever stop."

"Satoru."

"Once you were gone, they gathered all your belongings as evidence. See this hair tie on my wrist?" He lifted his hand. "This and your sweatshirt, which no longer carries your scent, are the only things I have left. Say it as if you still have that shirt of mine."

…

"Say it!"

"Sa-to-ru."

"Did you know that I actually thought if I messed myself up, went all self-destructive, and threw a massive tantrum, you'd come back? I mean, why should I bother taking care of myself? That was supposed to be your job, right?"

"Sa…toru."

"Oh, by the way, I completely wrecked that bench on the hill where you used to sit. And then I went ahead and destroyed the whole damn place, then just sat right there amidst the wreckage. I mean, why should I even give a damn when you stopped caring about me? Say it as if you get where I'm coming from."

"Satoru…"

"Yet you know what's funny? Ask me if I still love you like the first day?"

"Satoru?"

"It can't be just me, right? You can't be done with me. Tell me you love me."

…

…

…

"Okay. It's—"

"Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru…"

Everything he thought he knew flew right out the window. He had noticed the tremor in your breath and the shake in your voice, but the desperate murmurs of his name caused his eyes to flutter open. Your face was marked with the faint traces of tears, glistening in the light.

You blinked, revealing a spectrum of sadness and beauty unlike anything he'd seen before. The ability to convey so much with just a glance caught him entirely off guard.

Without hesitation, he leaned in and pressed his lips against the curve of your cheeks, softly caressing them. Nuzzling his nose against your skin, he lovingly kissed away the salty tears, his tongue delicately brushing your face with a soothing touch. Each tender movement provided a comforting solace during your emotional moment.

As he lovingly attended to your tears, you reached behind your back and unclasped your bra. He paused, eyes widening in surprise. However, before any words could escape, you leaned in and kissed him. In that single gesture, you conveyed your desires, and he, in turn, found his answer within the depths of that passionate kiss.

As soon as his palms glided over your smooth skin, delicately capturing your erect nipple between his fingers, the bra was tossed somewhere amidst the bedding.

"Lie back," Satoru instructed. He then crawled onto you, your bare chests meeting. He supported himself with his arms on either side of your head to ensure he didn't crush you under his weight.

He positioned himself atop you, overwhelmed by the yearning that had built up in your absence. The thirst to have you beneath him had grown insurmountable. He had craved the sight of your body begging him to take you, the undeniable desire radiating from you.

He locked eyes with you, keeping you in his gaze as he absorbed every aspect of your beauty. The polished planes of your face shimmered with fresh tears, adding a new layer to the bliss. Your eyes were rimmed with redness, solely for him, and this sight rendered him speechless.

Because what if he accidentally stumbled upon the wrong words, and the magic vanished, snatching you away once more, leaving him with nothing but a pumpkin carriage and a single pair of shoes?

He didn't want his arms to be deprived of your warmth. Your touch. Your lips. God, your lips. Your mouth on his neck. Your body wrapped around his. He couldn't bear losing you again, and the realization was like a pendulum the size of the moon. It wouldn't stop slamming into him.

Blinking his white lashes, he swallowed back the fear building in his throat.

What an irony!

The strongest wasn't fearless.

With his knee between your thighs and his body pressing closer, he realized he was paying attention to nothing but the dandelions blowing wishes in his lungs.

"When we were together, I became you," he stated. "You became the reflection I saw in the mirror, and I liked it more. So, I stopped being myself. It was fine because I had you. But when you left, I lost myself along with you."

"Satoru," you called, your voice soft, so soft. He wasn't unfamiliar with the touch of women, but yours were gentler, yet deadlier than them all. "I'm sorry for bringing us to this point." You drew his form closer. The resonating beats of your heart were audible, pulsing deeply within your chest. "Will you ever forgive me?"

Your words unleashed a tumult of feelings within him. Goddammit. He wasn't lost before he met you, but he found himself after having you, only to get lost more after losing you.

Satoru's tears stung as they fell backward down his throat, burning as they went. "Kiss me, and I'll forget everything," he uttered.

And you complied. You kissed him as if swimming through rivers of honey, as if being dipped in pure gold, like diving into an ocean of bliss, and he didn't realize you two were drowning because he was too caught up in the current to notice. Nothing held significance anymore—neither rules, nor the room, nor even the entire fucking Jujutsu society.

All that mattered was this.

This.

This very moment. These lips. This delicate body pressed against his, and these warm hands always discovering new ways to hold his heart.

Oh, My!

He wanted so much more of you. He wanted every part of you. And he kissed you back. Like a mild breeze. Like cherry blossoms. Like a blue spring.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Satoru drew away. It remained a secret, but piecing himself back together hurt just as much as falling apart. It felt like an ache that needed to be soothed.

You were the cure, so his finger lightly grazed the corner of your mouth, tracing its shape, curves, and subtle crevices. As he kissed the corner of your eyebrow, he whispered your name. His lips brushed over the shell of your ear, causing a slight squirm in your body. He planted a kiss on your neck, just beneath your earlobe, and you tilted your head, inviting him in. Perhaps you resisted the urge to plead for more, for a faster pace.

You used to love this, remember?

His lips moved down the expanse of your neck, delicately tracing the sensitive skin of your collarbones. Not content to be passive, your hands ran down his back, roaming over his broad shoulders, pressing into his back dimples, and clutching his hips. With a handful of his hair, you pulled him closer, leaving small kisses on his neck, arms, and chest.

It was incredible. Being with you, touching you, having you like this. The adrenaline rush was so powerful and euphoric that it made everything feel within reach.

He muttered your name, his lips mouthing the letters, barely speaking.

He pressed his lips against your upper lip.

He ran his tongue along your lower lip.

He planted kisses beneath your chin, on the tip of your nose, along your forehead, temples, and cheeks across your jawline. Then he moved to your neck, behind your ears, and the space between your breasts. Delicately, he nibbled on your sensitive nipples, leaving a trail of kisses all the way down to your belly button until his entire form moved down your figure, disappearing as he shifted downward, and suddenly, his chest was hovering above your hips.

As his lips descended towards the hem of your underwear, he lifted his head right before crossing that boundary, locking eyes with you. His gaze carried a mix of intense reverence and a silent question.

You met his gaze, the unspoken understanding passing between you. Your nod conveyed an affirmation, a wordless permission to continue. With your approval, he lowered his head once again. Before you knew it, he skillfully used his teeth to remove that small piece of fabric while the captivating scent drove him wild with desire.

Having removed your panties, his lips continued exploring, leaving heated kisses and lingering caresses from your toes to your thighs. Firmly holding your calves, he parted your legs, creating just enough space for his head to fit between them.

Your thighs were lifted, obscuring him from your sight. All you could see was the top of his head, the curve of his shoulders, and the unsteady rise and fall of his back as he breathed. Eventually, even that view vanished as his lips closed around your clit, causing your head to fall back and muffled moans to escape your lips.

Satoru's large hands trailed down and up your exposed upper thighs and ribs, tightly gripping your hips to keep you in place. He delighted in how you squirmed each time his hair brushed against your groin, until his tongue slipped into your hole, and the taste of you made fireworks explode in the back of his head.

With his right hand pressed against your stomach, his tongue danced and teased, evoking ecstatic cries from your lips. His mouth explored the known territories you had never witnessed, yet he remembered them intimately.

While fully engrossed in eating you, he suddenly and intentionally slipped his middle finger inside, and his mouth fervently sought to suck the soul out of your essence as if seeking retribution for all the times he had jerked off thinking about you creaming around his shaft. That's why he left you on the precipice of climax, working his way up your body. Satoru was never cruel enough to deny you the release you craved, so his fingers remained ready.

With an eagerness to witness the pleasure etched across your face, he slowly ascended your body, his touch kindling a burning anticipation within you. Continuing his exploration, his adept fingers navigated their way to your most intimate region, gently pressing against the delicate entrance.

"Let me know if it hurts, alright?" he whispered, his nose caressing the skin of your stomach, placing sporadic kisses around your breasts and collarbones to alleviate any tension. His disheveled hair and moist lips were evidence of the indulgence in your sweet taste.

"Take it easy— ahhh!"

He wore a satisfied smile as two of his large fingers effortlessly slid into your slit. Your nails dug into the sheets, whimpers escaping your lips as his hand rhythmically moved up and down within your tight walls.

Your mouth opened in a soundless moan, and he peppered you with kisses all around. Tears glistened in your eyes, and tiny strands of hair clung to your sweaty forehead. When his thumb rubbed, and the fingers hit all the right spots, your throat wailed in frustration.

You firmly grasped his free arm and tugged him towards you, bringing him closer until he was on top of you. You might have turned into a cold-blooded curse user, left dead bodies behind, or broken his heart apart, but you were still the same girl beneath him. The girl who would laugh with joy and steal his treats. The girl who would fiercely fight by his side and protect him. The girl who would easily surrender and moan in his ear.

He pressed his lips against yours, a reminder of the residual sweetness on his tongue. Just like in the old days, a soft moan escaped your lips as soon as you felt your own taste. If this gesture could convince you to stay with him, why not revel in it? He willingly opened his lips, inviting you to delve deeper, your tongues intertwining and brushing against his teeth.

The stinging bitterness of the past was long gone. He had forgotten everything. Although there was something he knew he shouldn't forget, he couldn't recall why or what it was. With his hard length suffering in his boxers and his digits thrusting backward and forward, paying attention to anything else was hard.

Seeing your desperation for his touch proved to be his downfall. He could die from this, he decided. From wanting you, from the pleasure of being with you.

He wore a smile as you locked eyes and reciprocated with your smile. He pressed his forehead against yours, his skin flushed with heat. With his other hand, he held your head steady while your hands clutched his neck, your palms gliding over the area just above his neckline, and your fingertips tenaciously pressing against his undercut.

"Sato..." you managed to utter, your voice quivering with pleasure as the orgasm washed over you, consuming your senses. Waves of euphoria rippled across your body, inducing uncontrollable tremors. Amidst your release, a single tear broke free, tracing a glistening path down your cheek, much like the cascade of emotions that flowed within you.

While he remained atop you, his voice reached your ears, his lips near your earlobe. "Can you sit up?" he whispered, burying his face in the curve of your neck, allowing your ragged breaths to brush against his shoulder.

Still struggling to catch your breath, you managed to mumble, "Yeah, but..." However, before you could complete your sentence, the bedding beneath you shifted as Satoru pulled you into his arms, clutching you tight.

He exhaled and looked at you, but this time, there were stories in his eyes, thoughts, whispers, and feelings of things he had never told you. He looked like he was hanging on his sanity by a fraying thread—you.

He touched your flushed cheeks as if uncertain of your tangible presence. His four fingers caressed the side of your face with tenderness before sliding behind your neck, caught in that in-between spot below your ear, and his thumb brushed the apple of your cheek, then grazing your bottom lip.

He pondered the countless things your lips had done. They had touched, kissed, and pressed against sensitive areas of his skin. They had spoken lies and made promises, and the words they had formed, the shapes and sounds they had shaped, he yearned for them all.

Satoru inched closer, cradling you like you were made of precious crystals. Holding you and looking at his own hands as if he couldn't believe you were real and truly there.

"I'm right here, baby. Look at me," you whispered, grasping his hands and kissing them.

All six of his eyes obeyed and stared at you. Gone was the curse user targeting Higher Ups. This woman before him had never done anything wrong. You were perfect and kind, untouched by the horrors of death.

He took hold of your hands and pressed your palms against his face, reclaiming the tears you had bestowed upon him. With an eternity of love, he whispered your name in the softest of whispers.

What if this was a dream?

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

He shook, shuddered, splintered into teardrops, and you embraced him like no one had before. Overwhelmed by the intensity, he struggled to contain himself, but seeing you cling to him as you might never let go stirred something within him. It was a heady sensation, knowing that you were there, caring for him, desiring him, needing him in this way. It made him believe that this was indeed real.

Gently, you stroked his silvery locks of hair and placed a kiss on his forehead. Gradually, your arms became the arms around his neck; your lips became the lips pressed against his, your body the warmth he felt. Funny how the moment he felt your touch, it burned a hole right through his head and pulled all his thoughts out.

He wasn't even breathing, but he was alive, and he was kissing you. Deeply, desperately. His hands fervently caressed the small of your back as he lifted you onto his lap, and instinctively, your legs wrapped around his hips.

Then, it was your turn to reciprocate. You planted kisses all over him—his cheeks, eyelids, chin, the tip of his nose, and the space between his eyebrows. You trailed along his forehead and traced his jawline, covering every inch of his face. These kisses conveyed more than words ever could.

And you took your time.

As your mouth moved down his neck, he let out a gasp. It was a moment to relish. Your tongue continued to worship the hills and valleys of his well-defined arms, tracing the graceful curves of his collarbones. Inhaling the intoxicating scent of his skin, you savored his taste. Your hands explored his abs, tracing along his navel and the delicate trails of hair beneath.

He broke apart with your small licks here and there, breathing hard, and stared at you dumbfounded. His mind remained hazy, unable to fully comprehend how your fingers toyed with the waistband of his boxer briefs.

Tilting your head to a side, you pressed your lips against his again, seeking him with a burning need, a new kind of desperation. Your other hand threaded in his hair, your lips so soft, so urgent against his, like fire and cinnamon exploding in his mouth.

Satoru nibbled your bottom lip in a flash before pulling back slightly. You were flooding his body with so much heat and desire. You parted your lips to sigh in his mouth, and that slight sound of pleasure drove him to the edge of madness.

Just as he was about to bring his mouth to your nipples, your hand suddenly slipped into his underwear and encircled his erectness pressing against your groin.

Oh.

Well.

He clenched his teeth, suppressing a groan. Oh God! He had fucking missed you holding his member in your palm. But you didn't stop at that. He gasped as you began to rub the tip with your thumb. His body ached everywhere as he tasted the colors and sounds that existed nowhere else. Your forehead rested against his chin as you continued to stroke his hardness up and down beneath his boxers. You were untamed, cruel, yet remarkably gentle.

"Take it off, Satoru," you whispered in his ear, your breath ragged. "I want you in me. Deep. Right. Now. Please."

He was beyond the reach of rational thoughts. Beyond words, beyond comprehension. The world was beyond understanding because nothing could ever compare with this. Nothing could ever capture the way he was feeling right now. He was left with only this very moment: You on his lap, your warmth against his hands, and your lustful eyes fixed upon him, making him absolutely insane.

Satoru held onto your waist with a firm grip, lifting you slightly, and in the blink of an eye, his briefs glided down his long legs until their whereabouts became irrelevant in the heat of the moment.

The wetness between your thighs was no longer a hidden secret, just as his hardness was revealed when you surrounded each other everywhere.

He watched as you reached down and guided his erection against your slippery entrance, making a few strokes to ensure the perfect alignment. His racing pulse could probably be felt in your palm and soon inside you.

Using both hands, he gripped your hips and pulled you downward, drawing you closer to him. A gasp escaped your lips as he entered you, always surprised about his size. He intended to allow you time to adjust, but you fervently clung to his neck, hitching your legs around his waist, urging him to penetrate you completely. A scream escaped your lips as you bit into his shoulder blade, but he remained composed, relishing the sensation of stretching you. He cherished the feeling of your inner walls squeezing him and the weight of your body against his balls. To be honest, he would stay like this forever.

Feeling your readiness, his hold tightened, and he started moving your body up and down. You cried out as you nestled your cheek into the curve of his neck, and he felt like dying and somehow being brought back to life in the exact moment, in the same breath.

Fuck! You were full of him.

He raised your thighs, stifling a groan that threatened to rip his throat as your lips met his. It left him bewildered, pondering why he hadn't perished, burst into flames, or snapped in half.

The room was consumed by silence, punctuated only by the sound of your heavy breaths. Your chests pressed against each other, colliding with the rhythm of your pulses.

As he sensed your arms tightening around him, he reciprocated with heightened strength, lifting and thrusting you with an intensity that transcended the bounds of restraint. Each movement struck the place he knew too well.

His teeth captured your bottom lip, eliciting a momentary jolt of pleasure. Your nails pressed into his shoulder as his fingers ran through your hair, pulling you nearer, immersing you in the fervent abyss of his mouth. The taste of you was a captivating fusion of sweetness and passion, an intoxicating blend that left both of you craving for more.

He kept trying to say your name, but he found himself unable even to catch his breath, let alone speak a single word.

The pace increased slightly; each thrust was hard, deliberate, wringing gasps, whimpers, and long, rolling moans from you.

Your eyes tingled with tears, falling fast down and traveling quietly down your cheeks. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs two parentheses in your mouth, touching your tongue and the saliva within. It was as if he had discovered an oasis in the vast expanse of a desert, gazing at you with eyes ablaze like fire reflected in water.

"I love you," he whispered over and over, his voice fragile and uneven. His lips covered yours in a tender kiss. He kissed you and tasted your tears, the lasting essence of pleasure in your mouth. He kissed you and kissed you until time toppled over, and your heads spun into a blissful oblivion.

Your head rested against his, and as you delicately nipped at his earlobe, he felt stripped down to his very core, just as he had unraveled you from within. Your sweet little tongue was frantic when you whispered, "I'm yours to love."

Something inside him melted. Hearing your words, he held still for moments, sucking in the air because he felt almost dizzy with satisfaction, running his hands over your thighs.

You. You belonged to him. You didn't erase the pain you had caused. You didn't fix everything you'd broken, but that wasn't what he needed anyway. All he needed was you, and with you, everything would be alright.

He firmly grasped your buttocks, burying his face against your shoulder as he sped up. He was shattered to pieces, but with you, he got put back together differently, better, and more himself than he ever could have been. Gritting his teeth, he succumbed to the impending climax. His hands glided along your back as you shuddered, your inner walls pulsating around him so hard that he couldn't hold back his release. With a growl, he thrust wildly, once, twice, until everything around you both turned to a world of vibrant colors and radiant light, where the sun shone, oceans sparkled, and Sakura trees bloomed.

*

Both of you were lying on a pillow, breathless and sweaty. Satoru's face was buried in the crook of your neck.

Your hand had delicately weaved its way into his hair, fingers stroking the silky strands as you both sought to ground yourself in the aftermath of your orgasms.

You rested your cheek against his head, your voice carrying a hint of breathlessness as you began to speak. "How is Shoko doing?

"She's probably smoking even more now," he murmured, his lips grazing against your shoulder as he pulled you closer. Despite the physical closeness, a deep ache echoed within him, yearning for an even deeper connection that felt just beyond his grasp. The desire to merge both body and soul, to be completely intertwined with you, was tangible in his touch.

His arms tightened around you as if attempting to bridge an unseen gap that couldn't be seen, but he could feel it. Each hug and touch was an attempt to mend the distance that pained him. The depth of his need reverberated through his being. It was visible in the depths of his eyes. It sucked to be this close yet feel so far from someone. But he didn't want to worry. As long as you were together, he believed nothing terrible could happen.

"Why probably so?" you asked, your curiosity piqued as you turned your head towards him. Your lips touched his soft, silky white hair. "Is it because of the numerous missions you're taking?"

"You seem to know every detail of my life," he remarked, turning his head towards you, the closeness so intimate that your noses nearly touched. His hand found its way to your arm, his finger tracing a path down its length, lost in contemplation.

"I've always kept tabs on you. I'm not even ashamed of it," you declared, your attention fixed on his ocean-blue eyes.

He let out a shaky sigh. "There's no longer a reason for me to stay in Tokyo like I used to," he whispered, his voice hinting at wistfulness. The words floated in the air, pregnant with unspoken meanings. As he locked eyes with you, his gaze transformed into a sea of emotions, reflecting a profound depth of feelings that transcended mere words.

"What about your students?"

"They're doing well even without me," Satoru said, his voice filled with fondness and melancholy. As his hand gracefully slid into your hair, he tucked back the strands that obscured your face, revealing the beauty of your features.

His thumb stroked your cheek in a soothing gesture. "Megumi came close to expanding his domain," Satoru continued, his voice filled with a hint of excitement. "Yuji would be thrilled to—"

"No, Satoru!" you interjected, your voice resolute. Your firm interruption halted his sentence as your face displayed a frown, your eyebrows furrowing with determination. "The answer is no!"

Satoru's hand dropped weakly onto the sheets, his fingers losing their previous touch. When his gaze met yours, a deep sadness flooded his eyes, turning the serene ocean within them into a turbulent storm.

He struggled to find the right words to make his case but couldn't resist trying to reason with you. "Come back with me. I have enough power and privilege to protect you—"

"I don't want your protection!" you exclaimed, your voice carrying a sharp edge that cut through his being. The words resounded with a harshness reminiscent of the day you decided to leave, which had left an indelible mark on both of you. It was a day that Satoru had always blamed himself for, haunted by the belief that he had failed to notice you drifting away.

His eyes, filled with sorrow, locked onto yours, silently begging for understanding as he summoned the bravery to express his deepest desires. "Don't you want a life with me?" he questioned, his voice brimming with the dreams and aspirations he had envisioned for both of you. "What about living in a house with blue shutters, windows overlooking the ocean, and—"

"How are you still such a wide-eyed, dreamy little boy, Satoru?" you remarked, your voice tinged with tenderness and sadness. As you spoke, your hand extended, interlocking your fingers with his. "Stop living in a fantasy world," you urged. The words pleaded for him to accept reality and let go of dreams no longer aligned with his chosen path. "Even if I had the chance to go back, I wouldn't want to," you continued. "The Jujutsu society is a broken bone that won't set right, and no matter how much you try to mend it, it won't work. I started hunting Higher Ups because I have a purpose. I can't be by your side."

As you raised your head, a glimmer of compassion and understanding shimmered in your eyes. The pain etched on Satoru's face was evident to you. In a gentle tone, you encouraged him, saying, "We've made different choices. Don't judge me because I never questioned why you didn't follow me. Our approaches may differ, but we share the same dream of creating a better world. So, I don't regret leaving, but if there's anything I regret, it's not cherishing every moment I had with you. But I'm doing it right this time. I'm memorizing every detail, so I have something to hold onto."

Your words bounced around in the fog of his head, blurring his senses, misting his eyes, and muddling his logic. In his bones, there was just ice. His entire being wanted to vomit. Reality slapped him in the face, punched him in the jaw, and dumped him into the ocean.

Until today, he thought he had fully come to terms with everything. He believed he had adapted to living with your absence, like a disabled person learning to avoid putting weight on his injured leg. However, deep down, he knew he was living on eggshells, always wondering when something would break, when everything would crumble.

But with your answer, stacks of sorrow grew inside him, settling on his bones as if a cable had twisted around his neck, a worm crawling across his stomach. It was the night, midnight, and the twilight of indecision. Too many pains to bear.

He realized how foolish he had been to believe he could simply blend in and lead an ordinary life.

Satoru.

Satoru Gojo.

Satoru Gojo, The Strongest.

The mere thought of it filled him with mortification.

He shook his head, coughing as his lungs were tormented, heaving strange, horrible gasps until his whole body spasmed into submission. His head was spinning, thoughts knocking into one another. With clenched fists, he fought against the misery, forcing it back down. Not again. Not again. Not again.

"Satoru?" you called out to him, and a thousand pieces of feeling stabbed you in the heart. Realizing how deeply he loved you kept hitting him in the face, the skull, and the spine. He ran a hand across his face and through his hair, displaying signs of wanting to scream, to break something, as if he was on the verge of losing his sanity.

You hugged him, bridging the gap between your bodies and leaning your cheek against his rock-hard chest. Your hands caressed his stomach as your lips left random pecks here and there.

"It's not just your shirt that I have," you expressed. "I also have our shared blanket from our room and a collection of photographs I'm too afraid to look at. I fear that if I see them, I'll go right back to you and beg your forgiveness."

You dropped a kiss on his chin. Then, on the curve of his shoulder and his shoulder blades. Five kisses down his throat, each softer than the last. You kissed his cheeks, hands, and eyelids for every moment of loneliness he had ever endured.

You continued, "My body hasn't realized we are no longer together. It calls out for you at night, unaccustomed to not having you tightly enveloping me like a second layer of skin."

He closed his eyes and breathed heavily, trying to gain control of himself. "Why are you putting me through this?" he asked, his hand caught in his hair. "Why are you scratching my wounds?"

"Because I want to remake you again, Satoru. You should get broken apart and rebuild in a way that won't cause you pain anymore." You kissed the hand covering his mouth, not holding back. Keeping your head there, you leaned against his heart.

"It's not as straightforward as a simple yes or no," you said, your voice cracking as you spoke. "Let's just enjoy this moment together..."

A sudden searing heat flashed behind his eyes, and his heart leaped at your response. His hand trembled, and his eyes were willing and wanting but filled with sadness.

He shifted his gaze towards you, his eyes open, jaw clenched tightly, and muscles tense. Breathing heavily, he wasn't sure what to do with himself. The ache in his chest had grown more assertive, more painful.

You lifted your head and reached up to stroke his cheek. "Love is the most twisted curse," you murmured as you tilted his chin toward your mouth. He blinked rapidly. Words were whispered upon his lips that no one had ever spelled out for him. "And we are the most cursed of all, aren't we?" you told him, watching the movement in his throat and his effort to keep it together. It didn't take you long to kiss him again. Tenderly.

Unable to find the right words, he relied on the language of touch, pressing his lips against yours. A sigh escaped into your shared kiss, and you responded by kissing him even more passionately, almost desperately, as if trying to pass over your breaths to him. The taste of salt lingered on your tongues. The wet drops falling on your cheeks made his flesh burn. Unsure of whose tears they were, he continued to cling to you, even if it was almost for the final time.

The saddest world in this whole wide world was "almost." You almost came back to him. He almost had you. You two almost made it.

*

You woke up with a smile, feeling a pleasant warmth enveloping your skin, remnants of the memories from the previous night. The room was filled with a fresh ambiance, hinted at by the open window that welcomed a gentle breeze. The scent of damp earth filled the air, evidence of the rain that had visited during the night.

Letting out a sigh, you brushed your face against the pillow. Your hand instinctively reached out to where Satoru was supposed to be, but a pang of emptiness washed over you. He wasn't there, and your eyes flew open, a sourness clouding their once-serene gaze. Something felt wrong.

Suddenly, sitting up, a sense of panic pulsed through your veins. The realization dawned upon you—Satoru had left the bed, and his absence spoke volumes. Your glance darted around the room, searching for any signs of his presence, but his clothes were nowhere to be seen.

An agonizing grip took hold of your heart. Conflicting emotions wrestled inside you. You had voiced your decision to part ways, to not be by his side, yet the depth of your desire for him remained steadfast. The pain and the desperate desire for his warmth was a stark reminder that not wanting to be with him didn't mean you were prepared to let go of him completely.

The bitter yet undeniable truth surfaced: as much as you and Satoru were meant to be, fate had not deemed you to last.

You could still feel the lasting presence of Satoru's cursed energy, an invisible thread you could identify even blind. Simply by scent, you would recognize it. It was a power that transcends physical senses, one that would recognize it in death, at the end of the world.

You swiftly snatched your robe and hastened out of the room. And there he was, Satoru, fully dressed, his blindfold tightly secured, sitting still in a chair, facing the untouched mochis. The hair tie was also on the table, indicating that he had removed it from his wrist. You couldn't determine whether it hurt you deeply to see him letting go of a part of you or noticing that he had left his beloved treats untouched.

He wasn't looking at you, so you had time to observe things you hadn't noticed yesterday. He had visibly lost weight. His hair showed signs of splitting and thinning, probably due to stress. Nightmares didn't let him sleep. His uniform appeared wrinkled, and his breaths were unsteady. You knew it wasn't your place to worry about him anymore, but you couldn't help it. Taking care of him had become a habit. He appeared weary, displaying the same profound exhaustion you experienced, filling you with fear.

His shoulders quivered up and down, and you could tell he was crying even though he was silent as a corpse. Your heart quickened as you approached him. With trembling hands, you reached for his blindfold, a desperate attempt because, goddammit, you fucking loved his eyes.

"What are you—" you started to inquire, your voice fading as you recognized that your touch couldn't reach him. He had activated his Infinity. Manually. Deliberately. A wave of profound sadness washed over you, tears welling up in your eyes, yet you swallowed them back, resolved to keep your composure. Your hand hung suspended, mere inches away from him, a symbol of the unbridgeable gap that had grown between you.

Then, in a sudden movement, Satoru stood before you, donning a black jacket that draped his figure. His voice emerged raspy, filled with a raw intensity that conveyed the turmoil within his heart.

"I can't handle this anymore. I can't continue being whatever I am to you," he admitted, his words heavy with a sense of resignation. The understanding that the current situation was no longer viable had taken hold of him. "If you want things to remain this way, I can't ignore the fact that we are enemies at the end of the day." He subtly avoided meeting your gaze, averting his eyes from your messy hair and the persistent sadness in your eyes.

"Can you honestly believe that?" you questioned, your voice brimming with incredulity. You took a step forward, narrowing the physical gap between you. It was essential for him to grasp the magnitude of your anguish and directly witness the toll your choice inflicted upon your heart.

Satoru took a step back, his brows furrowing beneath the blindfold that veiled his eyes. "It doesn't matter what I believe," he declared.

Despite the barrier that prevented physical touch, you closed your eyes, driven by the overwhelming desire to bridge the divide. Ignoring the protective shield of his Infinity, you leaned in, your lips seeking his in a desperate act of defiance. Tears streamed down your closed eyes as he relinquished the barrier that kept you apart. You pressed your lush mouth against his. It never took him long to respond, to part his lips. He kissed you back, holding your head steady with his hand while his other embraced you tightly. He had your heart, and you loved him quite horribly, too. This fact always smacked you over the head so hard you felt dizzy.

You held each other tightly, his arms enveloping you as his fingers intertwined with your hair. In that stolen moment, you caught a glimpse of the life you longed for—a life filled with love. Having this every day was within reach, but the harsh reality of the jujutsu world loomed, casting a shadow over your fragile dreams. The awareness that he would be exploited until his final breath burdened you deeply. Unable to witness his suffering, you knew you couldn't change your decisions. You had to reset this Jujutsu World. For him. For his students. For the happiness you owed yourself.

As your lips reluctantly separated, a bittersweet trace of saliva remained between you. Satoru gripped your shoulders, and as you glanced up, you noticed his blindfold was damp, indicating the tears he had shed.

You lowered your head. "I wish you had never crossed paths with me," you murmured, keeping your gaze fixed on the ground until he reached out and lifted your chin.

"I wouldn't take that chance. Not in a million infinities. Because there was love, even if it didn't change anything, even if it made the pain worse, love was there," he said, staring at your mouth. "I'll love you in this life. I'll love you in death and in whatever lies after. And likely even beyond that," he whispered. The words did something to you. They burned something inside of you. You swallowed hard. A fire consumed your mind. "No matter what, I'll always love you," he declared, and pain filled your veins. You could feel it in your blood.

"Satoru," you whispered. Your eyes fogged up, but you blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears away. You couldn't let a second of this be blurry. You couldn't afford to allow any of this to slip away. His absence felt like a missing limb, and his longing for you was a bullet in the head. How could he still love you? How could he find relief in your touch?

"But if we meet again," he said, his thumb brushing against your earlobe. "Just kill me. Because I'll be forced to kill you, and it's the same thing." As if the longer he held you, the more he would want you, he let go of you.

The enormity of his duty and the unyielding constraints of the jujutsu world, forcing him to make an unbearable choice, hit you like a cold gust of wind, leaving you feeling isolated and abandoned. The chill of that moment seeped into your bones, and you couldn't help but wonder if he had felt this same frigid loneliness when you had left him behind.

Satoru walked towards the door, each step carrying the finality of his decision that settled upon the room. Pausing at the threshold, a silent plea lingered in his words. "So, please, I beg you to stay away from me." With those words, he severed the last thread that had linked you, leaving you with a deep sense of loss.

The door closed behind him, leaving you in an empty and heavy space with unspoken regret. You were alone again, bereft without him, half dead without him. You opened your mouth and screamed. You screamed and screamed until your voice cracked beneath the pressure. Until you feared your throat would shred from the force. You wanted to crawl outside of your body so desperately so that you could escape this feeling.

No one ever warned you how men with such pretty eyes, who smelled like vanilla, tasted like rain, and talked like silver, were the reason behind tear-soaked pillows, half-finished poems, and so many sad dreams.

One last shout ripped out of your throat, this one so full of pain that brought you to your knees. You crumbled. The raw sound tapered off, fading into a hoarse, staccato cry. You sucked in a deep breath, filling your lungs with oxygen you didn't want, but you were too lost in your grief to scream like you wanted to.

It seemed like Satoru Gojo's story had peaked, and anything that followed wouldn't hold the same significance to him. Because for him, there was before you, and there was during you. For some reason, he never thought there would be an after you. But there was, and he was in it. He would be in it forever.

Moving forward, he silently implored his bones to remain firm, to support him for the remainder of the day and beyond. He ventured through the forest, his steps disturbing the mud and leaves as his footprints gradually faded away until there was nothing but the empty silence of a long, lonely dusk.

Tag list: @istanuwow @anime-lover1234 @rentaldarling @enchantedforest-network

 Disclaimers:

This creation draws significant inspiration from the incredible artistry of @animaybi (TikTok) and features quotes from the captivating writings of @starlightonthewaves (TikTok). Both of these talented artists deserve immense praise for their remarkable contributions.

Art is created by me.

Are you cursing me for writing this? :D

[pepis-benis]

it’s wednesday, so wip time

this is the disgustingly romantic swanqueen fic I’ve been working on

—————

“Baby,” Emma cooed in the gooey, silly way that she only used when teasing her. Regina’s heart skipped every time she did it. “You told my mom you loved me, unprompted, and cried?” Regina groaned, burying her head into Emma’s neck. Emma snickered, Regina’s favorite sound reverberating against her ear, striking her to the soul. “That’s so embarrassing.”

It should have scared her, the encompassing love she had for Emma, but Regina had never been less afraid in her entire life. She loved that Emma teased her, pushed her buttons, told her terrible jokes, did silly voices, sang purposefully off-key, and a hundred other little goofy things that Regina had never imagined she would experience, much less enjoy. The amount of vulnerability between herself and Emma still surprised her on occasion. Nothing had to be a secret; Regina could tell her anything. Emma rarely kept a thought to herself, a constant stream of consciousness pouring from the woman. Regina found that it didn’t bother her, enjoying the peek into her girlfriend’s mind. The surprise was that she often found herself telling Emma horrible things, things she had witnessed, things she had suffered, things she had done. In return, Emma would kiss her knuckles and tell her an awful story about her life before Storybrooke or her time as the Dark One. Neither of them held back in any aspect; they didn’t have to. They knew each other.

“We shared True Love’s Kiss in front of half of the town, darling. Your mother is ridiculous, but I think she already knew how I feel about you,” Regina said, pressing her lips softly to a collarbone. Emma’s laugh came out choked, but she quickly recovered.

“Don’t do that.” There was no heat behind her words, so Regina stayed where she was, mouth millimeters from soft skin. She bit her bottom lip, drawing her tongue across it. Her lips were dry; it definitely hadn’t been her intention to graze her wet mouth against Emma’s throat. “Do what?” she murmured. Emma’s arms tightened around her waist.

“You actually are evil,” Emma decided, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I’m not getting distracted, though; this is too good. You cried in front of my mom, you cried in front of my mom,” she finished in a grade school sing-song.

Regina scoffed, but the smile pressed to Emma’s neck betrayed her. “I didn’t realize we were eight, or I would have been making fun of all the times you cry.”

“I don’t cry that much.”

“I sent you flowers last week and you cried twice: once at the station and then again when you came home.”

“Well, yeah, ‘cause of what you wrote on the card. Which is where I will point out, you do make fun of me for crying.”

“Mmm…” Regina hummed as if in thought, closing her eyes and nuzzling her nose to Emma’s throat. “That doesn’t sound like me.”

“Yeah huh, it does. You’re so mean to me,” Emma whined. “You said I’m ‘everything, p.s. cue the waterworks’.”

“You’re paraphrasing, but was I wrong?” Regina asked, quirking an eyebrow her love couldn’t see. She knew it was there, sight unseen. “No,” Emma sulked. Regina pressed her parted lips to the blonde’s collarbone, breathing her words across exposed skin. “Then I wasn’t being mean.”

“I only cry a lot because my girlfriend is the most adorable, thoughtful, cute, kind, beautiful, smart, gorgeous, hilarious person in the whole world.”

Regina laughed softly, moving in Emma’s arms to look up into her eyes, sparkling like the ocean in late spring, waves broken by rays of sunshine. “Are we leaving pretty off the list now?”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot,” Emma said, dropping a kiss to Regina’s forehead. She pulled back with a grin. “Sorry, baby. You’re the most adorable, thoughtful, cute, kind, beautiful, smart, gorgeous, hilarious, pretty person in the world.”

“That’s more like it,” Regina purred, tilting her head up in a silent request. Emma rolled her eyes, chuckling lightly as she leaned in to fulfill her queen’s command. Their lips met briefly, Emma’s hand leaving its resting place on Regina’s waist to cup her jaw, fingers brushing hair behind her ear before settling. Regina parted her lips, a pout overtaking her face as Emma pulled away with a laugh. “You’re such a bitch,” she said, dipping to kiss the tip of Regina’s nose. “And so adorable when you pout.”

“Evil queens are not adorable nor do they pout.”

“Good thing you’re not evil.”

“I thought I was?”

“You’re only evil when you put your mouth on me at family functions.”

“So, frequently? I wonder why a hero hasn’t come along and put an end to my villainy?”

“Maybe the hero is more interested in what happens if she lets the villainy go on a little longer,” Emma said suggestively, waggling her eyebrows until Regina burst into laughter, a deep laugh that crinkled her eyes and made her feel so alive, like she did anytime Emma was around. Emma joined her, pressing a chaste kiss against her smiling mouth as the giggling receded. They lapsed into silence, Emma’s arms back around Regina, wrapping her in the familiar warmth the two of them created together.

[opencommunion]

"On the 34th day at last you go on down to rediscover the suburbs and the villages of the south, and you see just how deceptive and lying the photographs have been. A picture can only convey the surface of things. There is no meaning to destruction without the experience of the sound of feet crunching on top of the rubble. There is no meaning to the rubble without the stench of gunpowder blending with the smells of decaying corpses, cement, and iron. And there is no meaning to the smell without the feeling that everything is sand, sand becoming more sand. Those who saw the images of Lebanese devastation on their TV screens, in the Arab world, and in the rest of the world, and then cried or cursed or swore or became upset—really they did not see anything at all. Believe me, my friends, you are living in the delusion that you have seen, but you have not seen. The eye alone does not see—despite the fact that the eye is the torch of the body, as the prophets proclaimed. Human beings see with all of their limbs, organs, and senses. With all of these we confront the unknown, and when the unknown comes to us we become part of it.

I saw, though, and I became part of this horizon covered in ruin. In the Dahiyeh, I saw people wandering about looking for their places. Even more difficult to endure than losing one’s home is losing the capacity to identify the road to one’s home. I saw people’s eyes darting from side to side, searching for a familiar place in the rubble. These were people who had lost any recognition of the features of the streets and the places they knew, people who were no longer able to determine where their home might have been, or even where the road to it might be.

It was a mix of terror and bewilderment. The place had simply abandoned the people, and it had become featureless. Without any signs or indications to go by, memory seemed about to disintegrate as well. At this moment I recalled Palestine. Harder to bear than the Israeli occupation and suffering eviction from one’s home has been the aggression against the place, and the modification of its features through demolition. The souls of the dead flee to their places and spread their shadows over the homes, their perfume mingling with the scent of flowers in the meadows. What would the souls of the dead say today, wandering amid the ruins? Do the Israelis over there in Palestine, or those who are right here, in Lebanon, know that they have been unable to win more than the curses of the dead?

But Palestine only comes to light in southern Lebanon: the ruin of the Lebanese Galilee is embraced by the ruin of the Palestinian Galilee. These are the slopes of the soul that lead you to God. In the south I discovered the fields of lemon trees that stretch from Saida to the horizon’s end, and I breathed the perfume of the orange blossom, the flower that is in its transformation like nothing so much as the silkworm. The silkworm fashions its silk before it becomes a moth. But here the white moth that spreads out on the branches of the trees transforms itself into a fruit, the fruit that gave its name to the 'orange' in European languages. And from the perfume of the naranj we come to the boisterous guffaw of history that you hear reverberating in the Beaufort crusader castle. Today nothing remains of those franj crusaders apart from their fortress, which has become the practically invincible fortification of the resistance. Just as we wrote our graffiti on its walls in the seventies, so they write on them today. But the dogged irony of history does not appear quite so clearly here as it does in the destroyed villages beyond the fortress. In Bint Jbeil, Aita al Shaab, Siddiquine, and Aitaroun—there you see how closely the destruction and devastation coheres and binds with the will to resist and with the will to remain steadfast on one’s land. You can see how the trembling, shimmering pulverized dust hanging in the air becomes a voice that immerses itself in silence, and then produces it. There, the sloping hills stretch out and carry you to a horizon that seems to be embracing the souls of the dead, and you feel that you have been cast into an endlessly circular path."

Elias Khoury, "Meditations Upon Destruction" (2006)

[thoughtsfromlayla]

Embrace Me, Dream Lord

Summary: For all of the times Dream of the Endless has wrapped his loving arms around you

Notes: ~500 words, I wrote this  on a plane and I think the person sitting next to me is now concerned for my well being

Warnings/Tags: Poetry(?), angst, hurt/no comfort, toxic relationship, non-con mentioned for one line, unwanted pregnancy, red flags everywhere

Main Masterlist | One Shot Masterlist

Embrace me as I wrap my arms for meeting a friend of a friend, Hob has said great things about you, I will say

Embrace me as I cry into your shoulder after my humanity reveals itself.

Embrace me when you tell me you love me for the first time.

Embrace me with the promise of eternal love and life with it.

Embrace me from behind with your arms ensnared around my waist and I will think it cute.

Embrace me until tears swell in my eyes.

Embrace me until all I know is your warmth and my comfort in it.

Embrace me, then leave me cold, wanting and weary without you.

Embrace me even when I tell you I don’t wish to be.

Embrace me when you whisper your excuses in my ears.

Embrace me as you raise your red flags of war and I, my white flags of peace.

Embrace me after your fake apology and our screaming matches echo across the Dreaming.

Embrace me as your Dreamers have nightmares of our squabbles and my tears become theirs.

Embrace me, hide me, as those around us look at you with fear and me with pity. 

Embrace me as a distraction as I start to ask the question you hate the most: Why?

Embrace me until I feel my spark drowned by your acidic crocodile tears.

Embrace me after you come home from visiting your other lovers and a lie already on your lips.

Embrace me until my spine breaks and I seek your words to hold me up.

Embrace me until I no longer recognize my own pain, and can only be the tool for yours.

Embrace me until I tell you to stop, until I tell you that you’re hurting me, but you will say that it’s just who you are, and that I wanted this, and that I love every part of you, right?

Embrace me after I bear your cub that I didn’t want in my womb that you tore through.

Embrace me as my screams of pregnancy reverberate across the hall and I shall look at him with disdain because he looks just like his father.

Embrace me as I hear the same lies fall from your lips.

Embrace me even when I start to repeat those same lies to those who loved me before you.

Embrace me as I repeat the same excuses to my wrinkled and aging mother as she wishes to save me.

Embrace me after as you explain why I don’t need any saving, because you would never hurt me.

Embrace me until I believe you.

Embrace me until humanity no longer exists and it is just us in the wake of the universe’s breath.

Embrace me as we stare at each other and we can only find resentment braided between the similar strands of hate and love.

Embrace me when we’re reborn again and you find me in the next life with only a sense of comfort of my soul but no memory of why.

Embrace me forevermore.

[sugar-plum-writer]

A God Has Descended to Earth

Paring: Gojo Satrou x fem!reader Tags: God complex, one-shot, what happens when a god like existence on Earth makes you wonder? if all the gods you knew were fake A/n: I just wrote this after being inspired from Lana's - "Salvatore", I have listened to it many times but this version of it being in a cathedral unblocked my writers block. The echo, the reverberation, and blue cathedral inspired me to write some lines and it evolved to this lol~ I hope you guys like it! pls leave a comment for any feedback if you like it!

Throughout the lands and the sky above, beyond the glistening stars the breeze itself seemed to freeze to not disturb his walk. Black, white and blue sky, a gold painted sun cathedral with echo's of power resonating through each crevice swirling like the depth of oceans, and storming like a titanic on the clouds

Stepping down he looked like a God

using the sky itself as a staircase he stepped down, elegantly- playfully smirking, he needed no cathedral, he needed no church or temple, why? The sky was his, the sky was the cathedral, the only place high enough for a man like him to look down on the world and be worshiped.

No throne was worthy enough for him, none dared to bear his weight, no gold or diamonds needed to show his wealth, Afterall, which diamonds could ever compare to the azure blue painting his eyes reflecting the sun and the ocean in it's wake.

The sky was his, it exists because he exists, with just a drop of his power thousands could be ripped till bones and daggers cannot be forged. Having the strength to take the Earth from the back of Atlas and bear it on his mere hands; spinning it like a child spinning the globe. As if it was the most weightless object in the world.

How did such a man exist- was beyond you, having heard about him through many people, calling him annoying, cocky, over-confident, but one thing the whole world agreed on- he was the strongest. You laughed it off as you heard many things related to him, so many stories a 1000 nights couldn't match up, wondering if you could meet this man known as the strongest yourself

Until, you saw him, the man himself walking down from the sky

Sharp cuts on your body stung dripping with blood, making you beg your nerves to stop feeling this piercing pain. If it stopped you could focus more, hot blood drenched a side of your face, blurring your vision hazy, it smelled like iron and tasted disgusting on your throat making you want to vomit

Seeing him made your breath stop, world stop, the chaos fell silent and deaf to your ears- looking at him breathless as he walked towards you not even realizing the curse you were fighting was still alive

With a light grin he raised his hand

"Red"

Such a simple word, just 1 syllable

Obliterated half of the area you were standing flat, grimy blood of the curse splattered on the wall behind you- with a crater big enough to hold an elephant, but rather than horror it looked like a painting- a painting of raw power

Is this what ultimate power looks like?

The curse you struggled to fight against, gasping for breath in every killing blow, small cuts graced your body making your skin be basked in crimson, nearly dying fighting this curse and for him it was just

One Syllable

You stared at him, stunned to speak, he did not avert your gaze rather kept looking in your eyes, the azure eyes melting into your own- evoking the feeling of your soul being consumed by him

Gently raising his hand- he brushed your hair aside- though his hands got covered in your blood he paid no mind

"My My~ that's quite an expression you've got their my dear"

leaning in his lips close to yours- inches apart- gaze unwavering looking into your heart

"A-Are you a God?"

You do not know why such words came from your mouth, they just did, as if wanting to know, if the god you have been worshipping your whole life was fake

"Am I?"

He chuckled

"If I am, will you go down on your knees and worship me? will my name be the only prayer on your lips? Answer me dear? Will you?"

With a light smile he said the words as if they are weightless- even a god declaring his words would make himself look mighty, is he above a God?

"If so"

"Kneel"

Link to my Masterlist in case you want to read other works of mine

[seongsangssbitch]

My Angel

Pairing- Goddess Reader x Military General San

Summary- San needed to know why he and her could never be together.

Warning- Potentially sad ending with No smut because i am Shakespeare's bitch. Also, i wrote this for my writing competition HELpPpPppP

Word count- 750

San bowed his head in an earnest prayer before the grand temple, his knees pressed against the cold floor as the faint light of the moon filtered through the tall, windows, casting shadows that danced around him like silent souls. His heart pounded in his chest, not from fear of the forthcoming battle, but from a longing so deep that it reverberated through his mortal being. 

He was a soldier, bound by duty to protect his country. Yet, every night before the battle, he found himself here, not to pray for victory, but for a glimpse of you. The goddess of peace, who watched over the land with her serene smile and gentle gaze. You were everything he fought for, everything he believed in. 

As his whispered prayers filled the temple space, the air around him began to shimmer, and from the ethereal glow emerged, the goddess. Your presence was like a calming wave, washing over him, soothing his troubled mind. Your beauty was beyond mortal comprehension, a radiance that no mortal could ever hope to match. You stood before him, your delicate features soft and kind, your eyes holding the wisdom of centuries. 

"I have heard your prayers, brave soldier," you spoke, your voice a melodious harmony "Why do you call upon me?" 

He looked up at you, his breath catching in his throat. For so long, he had admired you from afar, but now, with you standing so close, the words he had rehearsed seemed to be long forgotten 

"My goddess," San began, his voice trembling, "I have fought many battles, and spilled much blood, all in the name of peace. Yet, the peace I seek is not found on the battlefield, but here, with you. I have come to realize that my heart belongs to you." 

You gazed at him, your expression unreadable, but your eyes flickered with something he could not quite understand. "You are but a mortal," you replied gently. "And I am eternal. Our worlds are different." 

"Yet, I love you," San insisted.   "And I believe that love can bridge even the widest of gaps." 

For a moment, you were silent, your gaze never leaving his. Then, you smiled—a smile so tender it could melt the hardest of hearts. But there was a certain sadness in your eyes that he could not understand. 

"Why can't we be lovers?" he asked like a low whisper. 

You reached out, your hand brushing lightly against his cheek, your touch like the softest breeze. "Because" you began, your voice filled with a quiet sorrow, "I know you will betray me." 

Your words struck San like a blow, and he physically recoiled as if he had been burned. "I would never betray you!" he cried, desperation lacing his words. "I would give up everything for you!" 

You shook your head slowly, your smile never wavering, but the sadness in your eyes deepened. "You are a soldier," you said, "and soldiers bring war, not peace.” 

“But my love, i am protecting the peace of this nation” he declared, desperate and shivering. 

 “If you’re protecting peace by going to war, there was never any peace. How can I love someone who is destined to bring about my end?" 

He fell silent, the weight of your words sinking in. He had never thought of it that way. 

"I love you," he whispered, but even as he spoke the words, he knew they were futile. 

You leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. "And I love you," you replied. "But our love is doomed from the start." 

The next day, the soldier went to war. He fought bravely, with your image in his mind, hoping that somehow, against all odds, you both could be together. But when the battle ended, and the smoke cleared, he returned to the temple, only to find it in ruins. The once majestic statue of your visage lay shattered on the ground, your serene face now broken and scarred. 

The soldier fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face as he realized the truth in your words. San had betrayed you, not by choice, but by his very nature. The goddess of peace was gone, and in her place was only destruction. 

As he knelt there, amidst the ruins of the temple, he understood the cruel irony of his existence. He was a soldier, born to fight, destined to destroy. And in doing so, he had lost the only thing he had ever truly loved. 

@asherthehimbo @grapejellysollie

[starriddenmess]

cyber 70s~

a little suggestive writing of a human x robot bartender pairing. Its a little cheesy I think haha. (I could continue it, if people want more. I apologize if there is any mistakes. I did write this in my point of view first and changed the name to y/n and the pronouns to they/them. I also wrote this at like 2-4 am 😭 I hope you enjoy nonetheless:) )

Y/n leaned their arms against the bar table resting their head in their hands, bathed in the neon glow that flickered from the holographic advertisements outside. They sipped on their electric blue cocktail. Vilo, the bartender, a towering figure of gleaming metal, towered over y/n. His fingers traced the intricate designs of y/n's tattoos, sending tingles down their spine. "I hope nothing bad happened to you, y/n" Vilo remarked and joked, his synthesized voice carrying a hint of concern. "I bet you know a lot of humans come into bars late at night to trauma dump. I have sooo many stories". y/n chuckled, their laughter mingling with the distant hum of hovercars outside. "No trauma tonight, Vilo," they replied with a small smile. Their eyes, locked onto Vilos luminescent purple optics. "I just wanted to see someone special." The bar was nearly empty, save for a few solitary souls scattered about, enjoying their drinks in solitude. The jukebox in the corner played classic 70s tunes, adding a nostalgic touch to the atmosphere. Vilo's fingers continued their exploration of y/n tattoos, tracing each line with precision. "Someone special, huh?" he mused, his metallic gaze fixed on her. "I've been waiting for you to come back, y/n." He leaned in closer, his metallic frame reflecting the neon lights. "I've been thinking about you. Y/n heart raced as they met Vilos gaze, they smiled again "I've been thinking about you too...". Y/n leaned closer to Vilo, their lips almost brushing against his metallic frame. "You know, Vilo," they whispered in a sultry tone, "you could have my number anytime you want and we can see eachother more."

Vilo illuminated optics flickered as he leaned back. "Y/n, my dear," he began, "I appreciate the offer, but there's something about these face-to-face conversations that technology can't replicate." which is really amusing for y/n to hear, as Vilo always had a interest in the old times. He gestured to the holographic screens that occasionally flashed images of distant news updates and swirling graphics. "The world may be overrun with machines and gadgets," Zeta continued, "but I'm a fan of the old ways, the human & robot connection, face to face. Besides, seeing you walk in here every week is a highlight of my week and more...". y/n couldn't help but blush, they reached out and playfully rubbed vilos shoulder. "You old romantic~," they teased. "I guess I can't argue with that. Plus, I enjoy our little chats too, you make my week too, I always love seeing you."

As their conversation flowed like a river of secrets and shared moments, Vilo's hand slipped beneath the bar's surface, retrieving a small, intricately crafted box. He placed it gently on the counter before y/n, his led lights shined yellow. "Go ahead, y/n," he urged, his voice filled with anticipation. "Open it." Y/n curiosity piqued, and with delicate fingers, they lifted the lid of the box. Inside, nestled on a bed of velvet, was a delicate necklace. Y/n laughs remembering the time he had lost part of his finger and now it's attached to this chain thats wrapped with wires. It was a really cool gift that will be really really sentimental to y/n. Vilo's laughter reverberated in the intimate space of the bar as y/n gazed at the necklace in awe. "It's a part of me... literally," Vilo said, his optics gleaming with a mixture of sentiment. "Back when I had to replace some components and to fix my hand, I thought about keeping a piece as a reminder of the past. And then, I realized it would be perfect for you. You always wear handmade jewelry so this is perfect for you". y/n heart swelled with gratitude as they looked up at Vilo. Their voice trembled with sincerity. "Thank you," they whispered "That's incredibly sweet of you. I really really love it." With his led lights turning pink, Vilo stepped out from behind the bar and circled around to y/n side. His fingers were cool to the touch as he carefully fastened the necklace around their neck. Y/n shivered as his metal fingertips brushed the back of their neck, a sensation both strange and electrifying. The neck lace hung perfect around their neck. "It suits you," he remarked, his synthetic voice a soft murmur, "just as I knew it would. You have a unique charm about you." With a skillful touch, his fingertips traced the contour of their collarbones, a subtle and intimate gesture that sent a shiver down y/n spine. They blushed at the unexpected but tantalizing sensation. Vilo discreetly withdrew his hand and returned to his place behind the bar to clean dirty glasses. They weren't a couple in the traditional sense, yet they had been conversing for over 6 months through chance encounters at the bar and accidental meetings on the streets of the city. It was as if fate had brought them together time and time again. Y/n realized that Vilo's gift was more than just a necklace; it was his way of expressing his desire for them.

"Vilo," y/n began, their voice soft and earnest, "I'm sorry I didn't give you anything. You've been so kind to me, and I feel like I should have brought something to show my appreciation." Even though it was a silly to think that. Vilo shook his head, his metallic frame gleaming in the ambient light. "No need to apologize, y/n," he reassured them, his synthesized voice comforting. "You being here, your presence, that's the greatest gift I could ask for. You're the gift I look forward to every week." his lights flashing pink again. Y/n heart swelled with emotion as the words sank in. The love song playing in the background seemed like an echo of their unspoken feelings, as if the universe itself was serenading them. Bobby Caldwell's voice filled the air, singing, "What you won't do, do for love. You've tried everything but you won't give up".

Vilo, ever attentive, poured a glass of water for y/n and placed it gently in front of them. "Here," he said with a warm smile. "Drink this while you enjoy your cocktail. I'll be right back." With that, he turned to attend to the human who had called him over, his metallic footsteps fading into the background. Y/n watched him go, their thoughts racing with the romantic moments they had shared tonight. It was an unexpected connection, but one that had grown stronger with each passing encounter, they felt really comfortable with Vilo. Resting their head in their hand, y/n couldn't help but replay the evening's events in their mind. They pulled out their phone to check the time and saw that it was already 1 am. The bar was set to close at 2 am, and the realization that their time together was running out tugged at their heart. They glanced around the bar, observing the other patrons lost in their own worlds, their conversations and laughter creating a cacophony of sounds that contrasted with the intimate moment she had just shared with Vilo. As they took a sip of their cocktail, their thoughts swirled with the possibilities of what the future held for them and Vilo. As y/n continued to sip their cocktail, they absentmindedly scrolled through Instagram on their phone.

Vilo returned to their side, his eyes fixed on their phone. With a playful grin, he reached over and turned off the device. "I don't allow phones when I'm around," he teased, his synthetic voice laced with humor. "You know that, y/n." His head tilting at them. Y/n chuckled, shaking their head as they set their phone aside. "You're such a traditionalist," they remarked, their eyes twinkling with amusement. "But ill comply with you~." Vilo nodded and leaned in caressing their forearm. "I told all the customers that the bar will be closing in an hour," he explained, his fingers tracing patterns on y/n arm. "Had to fix an arcade machine that was acting up. But don't worry, we still have some time." Y/n smile widened at his response. They appreciated his efforts to ensure they could continue their conversation. It was clear that Vilo cherished these moments as much as they did. With a thoughtful expression, y/n turned the conversation to a more lighthearted note. "Hey, Vilo," she began, "what's your favorite 70s love song?" Vilo paused for a moment, his digital mind sifting through memories of music from that era. Finally, he replied, "I think 'You're My First, My Last, My Everything' by Barry White. It has a timeless quality to it, just like our moments here." He says his while his fingers traced to their hand and played with y/n fingers softly. Their eyes locked, and in the dimly lit bar, amidst the echoes of 70s love songs. Y/n playful spirit shone through as they began to softly sing the lyrics of "You're My First, My Last, My Everything" by Barry White. Their voice, though not a professional singer's, carried a sense of joy and fun that filled their vicinity with an infectious energy. Vilo couldn't help but hide his head in his hand, his robotic shoulders shaking with light laughter. When they finished, Vilo couldn't resist asking about their favorite 70s love song. He tilted his head, his digital eyes fixed on y/n. "And what's yours?" he inquired, genuine curiosity in his voice. Y/n expression turned thoughtful for a moment. "Well," they began, "I don't know many 70s love songs, but there's one I like – 'Catch the Rainbow' by Rainbow." Vilo raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Interesting choice," he remarked. "But doesn't that song end with the two people not ending up together?" Y/n chuckled, their smile tinged with a hint of sadness. "Yes, it does," they admitted. "But I guess I like it because, in a way, it kinda relates to my past relationships. They all ended up bad, but I can't help but appreciate the beauty in those moments, even if they were fleeting." Y/n hoping Vilo and them stay together as y/n reaches out touching Vilos wrist. Vilo asked about their past relationships and Y/n sighed softly and looked at Vilo. "It's a sad story," they admitted, "and I'd rather not talk about it here." Vilo nodded understandingly, his fingers moving to theirs that rested on his wrist, taking them in his hand. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely, his synthesized voice filled with empathy.

Vilo had an idea. He leaned in closer to y/n, his metal frame close enough for them to feel his buzzing frame. "Y/n," he began softly, "after the bar closes, would you mind if I came over? I know it'll be late, but I'd like to talk to you in a space where it's just the two of us." Y/n eyes met his, and a warm smile tugged at the corners of their lips. "You can, Vilo," they replied, their voice filled with gratitude. "I'd like that." As the bar's closing hour drew near, y/n and Vilo looked forward to the quiet moments they would share. Vilo couldn't help but notice that y/n hadn't touched the glass of water he had given them earlier. He tilted his head slightly, his synthetic voice carrying a teasing tone. "Y/n," he said playfully, "you're being a bit bad, aren't you? I gave you that water for a reason." Y/n rolled their eyes, their cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. They picked up the glass of water and took a sip, meeting Vilo's gaze as they did so. Vilo praised her with a warm smile as he held their hand, entwined on the bar's surface. "thats my good human~," he murmured, his head tilting playfully and his led lights flashing pink. Y/n almost choked on their drink hearing Vilo say that, their cheeks burn a hotter red. Vilo noticed the change in y/n demeanor as they looked to the side, their gaze distant. He couldn't help but lean in closer and tease them asking them "y/n, is everything okay?" They tried to find their words, their voice slightly shaky. "I... I'm okay," they replied, a soft smile tugging at the corners of their lips. Vilo leaned closer to y/n ear, his voice lowering "are you sure?" teasing y/n more. Y/n met his sensors with a playful gleam in her eyes. They didn't back down from his teasing. "I know what you're doing," they whispered back. Vilo's hand, still entwined with theirs, rubbing his thumb on theirs. He leaned even closer, against y/n ear. "But you enjoy it," he teased, his voice a sensuous purr, "don't you, y/n?" Y/n couldn't help but look away but Vilo takes his free hand and touched their cheek and softly pushes it to have y/n look at them again. "Don't you?" He says.

[amethystfairy1]

Writing Patterns (Tag Game)

@honeylashofficial shot this challenge my way and I thought it seemed like fun! So let's see...

Rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

“You turning in for the day?” Xisuma’s voice reverberated through the speakers of his helmet, and Pix nodded to him with an easy smile. (Blessings in Disguise, TTSBC)

“You should go.” ("And I promise to be patient, and I promise to be kind", Flower Husbands Febuwhump prompt fill)

Big round eyes. (“Don’t let the bastards steal your soul, ‘cause they don’t see you’re gold” TT)

Grian had been sold from his colony at fifteen years old. (“Everything that you thought was real, doesn’t make much sense to me” TT)

The pastoral foothills were vibrant green, and the forests thinned slightly as they carried along. (“You’re on the other side of the storm now, you should be so proud” TT)

Pearl supposed she should be happy. (“It’s like fallin’ backwards into no one’s arms” TT)

It was another slow day traveling between towns in the Swagon. (“Nothing quite prepares you for when they don’t come back” TT)

I’m going to say it. (“Come morning light, you and I’ll be safe and sound” TT)

Ow. (Piercing Gold, TTSBC)

What had been the last words? (“Present all your pretty feelings, may they comfort you tonight” TT)

Is there a pattern? I dunno, you tell me, feels pretty all over the place to me but that could just be because I wrote them 😆

[charaznablescanontoyota]

prompt bingo fill -- "notebook" takes place between eps 8 and 9

the casino discotheque is brilliant and startling, so loud that al can still feel the music reverberating in his ribs when he and audrey stumble out onto the third floor landing. his eyes water as they readjust to the light; audrey makes a low, annoyed noise next to him as hers presumably do the same.

“food,” al suggests. his brain is still buzzing a little from the tequila shots, but years of sneaking into the fields or up onto granny’s roof to drink with ed and winry have taught him enough about how to avoid a hangover the next morning. 

“food,” audrey agrees.

like with shadow earlier in the evening, al trusts her to steer him towards whatever is good to eat–they end up with hot pretzels wrapped in paper and frozen drinks that audrey calls slushies. the syrup in them tastes more chemical than fruit-flavored, but al can still feel his body welcoming the sudden onslaught of sugar.

“you’ve had pretzels before,” audrey quizzes him, as they find a table to sit at. it’s closer to the quieter lounge, the one with the small stage and the jazz band, and a safe distance from the throbbing bass of the discotheque.

“of course i’ve had pretzels,” al says, a little amused. “we have bakeries.”

“listen, i almost flunked world history, i don’t know shit about what was invented in the 1910s. you have soda, right?”

“we have pop. ed drinks it, i don’t like it very much.”

“is it, like, the kind with cocaine still in it?” audrey leans forwards, eyebrows arched.

“i don’t think so,” al says. he frowns. “your soda pop had cocaine in it?”

audrey hums, and doesn’t answer the question. “can you alchemy food instead of cooking it? if you have the ingredients?”

“uh–yes and no,” al says. he takes a bite of his pretzel and swallows it, considering how to explain in terms audrey won’t write off as scientific gibberish. “there are alchemical circles for food. but you have to understand all the exact measurements of ingredients in whatever you’re making, and there’s no room to improvise or taste it in the middle. so you’re better off just cooking, unless you’re trying to show off.”

the explanation reminds him of the small notebook in his breast pocket; al takes it out and flips it to the last entry, the oversized snacks from the arts and crafts car. underneath, he prints everything new he’s eaten since. small shorthand annotations and symbols go next to each one, nearly incomprehensible unless you know what you’re looking at.

“what’s that?” audrey asks.

“food diary,” al says, mid-stroke on the word slushie.

“you write down everything you eat?” there’s a tiny flicker of judgment in her eyes. “why?”

“when i didn’t have a body, i couldn’t eat,” he says succinctly. audrey knows about the soul-bond and the suit of armor, so there’s no point in dancing around it. “i couldn’t remember what a lot of foods tasted like, and nobody was good at describing them to me. so i made a list of things i wanted to eat when i got my body back, and then i wrote down what they all tasted like. and then i…kept going.”

“oh,” audrey says. she’s quiet for a moment, then, “but you’re not gonna lose your body a second time, right?”

“it’d be pretty hard to,” al says, smiling wryly. he draws a little circle next to slushie–he wants to figure out what it’s made of. what that chemical, imitation-fruit component breaks down to. “but i do it just in case. is that strange?”

“i think strange is fine.”

“me too.” al flips the notebook shut. he slides his small nub of a pencil back into its place in the wire binding, and tucks the whole thing back into his pocket. “you know–my number, the number it started at was 250. exactly the grams of salt in the human body.”

he doesn’t want to explain how he knows that; it feels like it would ruin the moment. audrey doesn’t ask. instead, she takes a long sip of her slushie, her lips twitching into a small smile.

“how’s your salt content now?” she asks. the inside of her mouth is bright blue from the faux-fruit syrup.

al turns his hand over to check his palm. “better.”

[cannibal-nightmares]

01:41

Spirit intervenes Stein having a night terror.

Wrote this on my phone in 30 minutes at 4:30 in the morning cause you guessed it i had a night terror, woof. ah well. woke up across my room and it took me maybe 45 minutes to reconnect with my body; I wondered what it might have looked like from a third person perspective. possibly needless to be said, this was not proofread as I tried to go back to sleep afterwards.

enjoy, sincerely. otherwise, what else is it all for?

Soul Eater - Stein x Spirit (ship is up to interpretation, SFW) // hurt+comfort, night terrors, dissociation, non-verbal Stein, age up to interpretation, acts of care, fluff? Word count - 841 -- [AO3 link] -- ["01:41"]

"ein... Stein! Hey now, it's me, Stein!"

Cornered in a dim box, a weapon eased into his frazzled meister like wrangling a frightened wild animal, echoes of shouting reverberating off of someone's ears...

"Let me turn the lamp on." Time passed and shadows contrasted in a flash. "Is that a bit better?"

Before Spirit, his partner stood terrified and blank-eyed, ever-small looking in his otherwise enormous frame. The junior had let himself into Stein's room as he heard him screaming from the other side of the wall, and found him pinned to the corner with his arms protectively over his face like he was being attacked. Now he stood a sort of confused shell.

Before Stein? Before Stein, he wasn't sure who he was looking at.

Franken watched the weapon’s hand snake towards his wrist in delayed slow-motion; he allowed and tried to anticipate the touch, but was still caught surprised. Stein couldn't tell if it was a mere muscle spasm or if he jerked away entirely. He didn't feel scared--that wasn't the word--just... Misplaced.

"Here, sit down." Spirit couldn't keep his worried eyes off of him, his watch scanning and unbreaking. Stein didn't even seem like he was in the room.

The meister let himself be led after a couple cascading beats, his footsteps not to his own will, but to seemingly someone else's. He tried to come back and take his own body by the reigns, but couldn't. He felt lost. Third-person. Spirit sat his partner on the edge of the bed and hesitated a second to sweep hair out of Stein's eyes. It was only after he knelt next to him did he realize he was shaking.

"I think you had a night terror." He swallowed out of sync with his own autonomy. In saying the realization out loud, he tilted his head in nervous curiosity. "Stein, can you hear me?"

Seconds felt like minutes to Stein, so he wasn't certain how long it actually took for him to finally click eye contact with his weapon partner. Something was wrong about Spirit's expression, but he couldn't begin to fathom what. Was something wrong at all? Were they in danger? Even if they were, could he begin to move to react?

"I'm going to get you some water, okay? I think you should wake up out of this state before you try to go back to sleep."

Stein couldn't hear him. He thought he might have understood the word "water," though.

Spirit hurry-stepped out of the room and left the walls empty. Left the walls empty? Stein couldn't tell if something was happening. Was it silent? Was there noise? Were there supposed to be people? Was he waiting on someone? Even as he tried to ask himself anything at all, the questions seemed to melt within his consciousness. Was he awake or was he still dreaming?

His other returned. "Can you hold this?" Spirit held out a glass to him, to which Stein didn't so much hesitate to try and take, though it did go heavy in his grip. Albarn followed the bottom of the glass with his hand to catch it if it fell, but Stein successfully managed a few sips. When he brought it away from his face, his daze hadn't changed.

"Sheesh, Stein." Spirit sighed to himself, not intending rudeness but sheer internal shock.

"Here," Spirit took the glass from his partner, slinking it from his half-asleep grasp. He got on one knee again. "Dip your fingers in the water."

A second, and Stein's brow twitched, only a slight focus managing to laser onto Spirit. "...What?" He asked in a small voice.

The response made Albarn's mouth twitch in a slight smile. "Dip your fingers in the water. Look." Spirit brought the back of his cool hand to Stein's neck; it startled him at first, but seemed to magnetize a calming focus back to his mind. Stein slowly started to realize what his partner was trying to have him do.

Franken saturated his fingers in the glass and brought the hand to the side of his face with closed eyes. A moment, and he soothingly rubbed his eyes, rolling his knuckles across his face in child-like instinct. He gradually began to actualize the feeling of his presence again, the texture of his skin, the weight of his legs; some parts were still stuck in limbo of a dream, but it was a start.

Spirit sighed resolutely this time. "Do you want to try and go back to sleep?"

A pause, unopening his strained eyes, he continued to self-sooth. He nodded.

Spirit set the glass aside and fluffed out the had-thrown-over blankets. Stein leaned over and back to curl his knees to his chest, his free hand still fidgeting at the back of his neck. His partner curled up behind him with his arms around his waist, ensuring any monsters would have to take them both on if they dared to pose a threat again.

Stein would not have to face the next one alone.

[what-even-is-thiss]

So I'm rereading the Odyssey again and thinking about what happens afterwards and I was thinking about how the ending was also unsatisfying to the Ancient Greeks and Romans who came up with a bunch of different explanations about what happened to Odysseus, Penelope, and Telemachus afterwards. One story says that Penelope was scooped up by the god Hermes after Odysseus sailed off again and became the mother of the god Pan. And I got to thinking about that. And what Hermes thought of his great grandson killing most of the young noblemen on his island and how Athena thought she was fixing anything by telling to people of Ithaca to not take revenge on him. And like a man possessed I was so intrigued by this idea that I wrote a tiny little story about it.

So, here's that.

Hermes, despite being a god, was still a man, and he was not a man who was particularly prone to internal conflict. Such a handicap would be detrimental to a god of liars and thieves who was also a protector of travelers who were often robbed by those same theives. He knew of his own moral improprieties and lived with them. Contradictions within the self, to him, were just a part of the gift-curse of sapience. What were you gonna do? 

He loved himself, he loved his children, he loved spending nights with many women and the occasional man or persons who held multitudes within their tunic. He enjoyed the company of his many siblings, and he saw more of the world than he would ever let on.

He was not a man in possession of the many branches of the future.

“I think my brain is better wired to surprise.” he told Apollo and anyone else who would try to tell him of his fate. “You’re an idiot if you think even the fates know what’s going on.”

As he watched Athena try to wrangle Odysseus’ life into a shape vaguely resembling the one he had before, he laughed at her many times. He passed through the area around Ithaca as she appeared divinely to the mortals to tell them to not take revenge. This was the point where he laughed loudest of all. Invisibly, so she could not acknowledge his presence without looking strange.

“Why are you laughing at this?” Athena asked him later as he hovered over the palace, watching the reunited family within. “I saved your descendant.”

Hermes laughed a louder laugh that reverberated through his winged sandals and worn travel cloak and sent a gleeful cloud of mischief flying over the island. He smacked her on the head with his staff, his stupid big sister.

“Goddess of wisdom, eh? Goddess of cunning plans? You sure I’m not talking to the daemon of stupidity?”

“What are you talking about?” she snapped at him from the roof. 

She snatched at his sandals and he zipped out of her way with another laugh. She was always so serious. So intense.

“Who do you think deals with the lost survivors and lost dead of your wars, dear sister? There is no saving your precious Odysseus now. This is your first time getting a look up close at the destruction you cause from your lofty tents.”

Again the bright-eyed goddess asked, “What are you talking about?”

“His destruction lives in his body now. Body, soul, and mind. It doesn’t take a genius to notice that. It lives in the bodies of the families he separated, the slaves he took, the wife and child who no longer know him and never will again. You would know where this was going if you ever bothered to follow where your beloved soldiers go more often.”

“How can you laugh about this?” she asked him. For now when she looked inside the bodies of the humans below her, she saw now what Hermes had meant. The anger, the grief, the loss of the war, was still pumping through Odysseus’ blood, the electrical signals between his nerves, wound up into the immortal soul currently bound to his flesh. Not just Odysseus, but all of them. They were all holding something within that was threatening to explode.

Hermes poked her with his staff.

“I think that bitch was stupid for waiting for him.” he said.

He ripped away the sight of the ceiling and showed Athena a vision of Penelope lying on the olive bed, naked and staring blankly at the ceiling as her now younger than her husband lay sleeping beside her.

“What are you planning now?” Athena asked him.

“I won’t hurt your little toy.” Hermes told her. “And I do mean that. He should’ve done better. He’s only going to do worse as time goes on. You don't need to be connected to an oracle to see that. Once he inevitably comes crashing down, that’s when I’ll move in. I think she’ll prefer my offer to his refusal to admit guilt. And for your sake and hers, I think I’ll properly seduce this one. Simply taking what I want is almost never as fun, as much as father seems to enjoy it.”

Athena could have protested. A piece of her wanted to. She knew, though, that she was also a person who took what she wanted. She knew what she wanted. She would make it happen. Who knows? If she had personally found any pleasure in sex perhaps she would also do the things he was alluding to.

If she had any respect for her younger brother, the swift messenger, it’s that he knew what he was, and felt no remorse. He was a liar with a clear vision of himself. The multitudes he contained were not troubling to him, as they often are to mortals and gods alike. His care for mortals may sometimes manifest as turning them into agents of chaos for his own amusement, but at the very least he seemed to understand them. Athena, clearly, did not. All she saw was problems and solutions. Something that didn’t always actually exist.

Neither of them needed to sow any more chaos for this little family to finally fall apart for good. The end had taken root like weeds, and who was Athena or any other god to stop him from making something out of the destruction? Scattering the men, scooping up the women, would arguably lead to less destruction than just allowing them to implode on their own, and would likely be much more fun. Unhook the dead servant girls from the trees, hanging like swings and drying meat, souls unhooked from their remains. He had pointed them westward already. Their blood dripping on the ground would sit behind the eyes of Telemachus and Penelope and all the survivors of the slaughter tonight while the man known as Odysseus slept all too soundly.

Yes, that man would never be content for long. The end had taken root in the blood of the countrymen crusted on his tunic, watered with his own lack of self-awareness.

[swamiiyasssss]

Religion - LDR

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley × F!Reader.

Word count: No idea i wrote this on the notes app where everything unhinged in my life goes Warnings/Tags: Angst, character death, reader death, mentions of smut, mentions of sex, mentions of blood, gore..?, PTSD, religious trauma, swearing/cursing, strong language, fluff, strong descriptions of bodily fluids, hurt no comfort, no happy ending, no beta we die like reader.

Summary: Simon's never been one for god, but damn him if it means you get home safely.

A/N: Sorry if there's any incorrect references to christianity. I'm not even christian, I'm just so intrigued by the religion. Also one of my favourite songs ever is Take me to Church by Hozier (2013 vibes fr) and i just gotta use our Queen Lana's song cuz we both know Ghost is LDR-coded. Pull up the song on spotify n listen to it while reading this it's really good.

GIF by @daniel-bruehl

_________________________________________________

Cause you're my religion

You're how I'm living

When all my friends say I should take some space

Well I can't envision, that for a minute

When I'm down on my knees, you're how I pray

_________________________________________________

As a young boy, Simon never went to church. Sunday mornings didn't see him with hands together on a wooden bench in some cathedral, hymns reverberating against the white walls. He stayed at home, much to his mother's behest. But he did it because his father despised it even more.

For someone who claimed to be such a man-of-God, Simon's father was anything but pure-hearted. If you could paint the man's soul on a canvas, you'd only find a repulsive potion of pus-like, tar-ish mess. Church was far from Simon's known home of heaven; The belt stung against his wrists, his soft cries were silenced in the entrance hallways. Always hidden from the eyes of God.

But when a man, Simon was reborn into a Ghost. Ruthless, machine-like, angelic. He was God's hand in battle, slaying the evils of the world, and banishing them down under. His once pure-white wings were now stained with the same tar of his father. He was now a 'Ghost'

What is a Ghost anyways? A soul too corrupted for the underworld, so it's instead cursed to roam the Earth. Even hell won't accept someone so disgusting.

And then, you came. With your shimmering eyes and your hypnotizing words. You were sin-incarnate. You were his judgment. Lust is frowned upon in the halls of Heaven, and if Simon had any chance of attaining paradise, you were the obstacle.

The came Judgment Day. The day you died. It was only meant to be a Recon mission, but He had other plans.

"You're a holy man, Riley." You light-heartedly laughed, trying to break the macabre assurance which clung to the air. "I'll put in a good word with the man downstairs."

He snarled. "None of that. Keep your eyes open Lieutenant."

"Come find me." You were slowly deceasing into unconsciousness, the words slurring and dying on your tongue." Simon. Please come find me." Your eyes slowly fluttered shut, like a machine dying down.

"Fuck—No stop it....Shut up..." The denial in his words was breaking you by the second, much like him breaking down on his knees, hands on swiftly traveling around your limp body. He was convulsing and shaking with fear; both of you. For the first time since his childhood, Ghost was scared. Genuinely fucking scared. He was hopeless.

"Simon..." You slurred.

"SHUT UP!" He screamed. Tears festered in his eyes. His breathing quickened. His pupils were dilating.

How could you sound so 'sweet', even in death?

He didn't know what to do. First time in a while where he doesn't know what do to you. He's stuck, and he can't pull him and you out.

He's lost too many men. Too many friends. He's a broken man with blood in his ledger, ands it's spraying everywhere. Is it too dickish of him to say you were the only one who could keep a lid on it? That festering, demonic rage in him behind a door, itching and crawling to get out, and you somehow, somehow, made it stay there in its chains.

The blood was gushing out of your mouth, even faster this time. You tried to cough it out, but the all-too-familiar metallic taste still kept to your tongue. You placed one of your hands to his face, making sure to feel every scratch on his skull, and every fibre on his mask. You wanted to make sure the last thing you ever felt was him.

Simon wanted to challenge time. He wanted to smite everyone in His ungodly name. He wanted to crawl through Hell, and wring the neck of Satan himself. He wanted to—He–

"Fuck out'-outta here, Lt." You swiftly pressed a pocket holster gun to his gut. His eyes widened in confusion, and quickly morphing into refusal, figuring out what you were doing. "That's an order. I'm gonna shoot you if you don't."

"I'm not leaving you, dammit."

He's known you long enough to know you were serious. You've known him long enough to know he's not budging.

"Please don't leave me." He cried.

But he will, because he won't compromise the mission because of one woman dying. A rookie sniper-slowly becoming the best in a century of the profession-bleeding out in his grasp.

"Please. I beg you, darling."

You're just a little casualty. One of many.

Whatever you two had, it wasn't love. There's no love in War. They go side-by-side; parallel, never meeting. It was a quick fuck, mixed with respect and restless fervor for each-other.

"Y/N. Please."

And Simon's got a cold heart, but even the smallest spark can set it ablaze.

Ghost stared down on you, and you saw hell finally freezing over in those eyes.

"I'll meet you, yeah? We'll have all the time in the world down there. Promise?" You whispered.

You blinked languidly. You went deaf; His mouth moved:

'I promise.'

You closed your eyes.

To the sound of the explosion came the terrible echo as if it were the anguished cry of God. And everything went black.

Everything went radio silent.